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ENGLISH    PROSE 

H.    CRAIK 


VOL.   I 

FROM   THE  FOURTEENTH   TO   THE  END   OF  THE 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 


;V><^° 


ENGLISH    PROSE 


SELECTIONS 


WITH  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTIONS 

BY  VARIOUS  WRITERS 

AND  GENERAL  INTRODUCTIONS  TO  EACH   PERIOD 


EDITED    BY 

HENRY    CRAIK 


VOL.    I 

FOURTEENTH  TO  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1907 

All  rights  reser-ved 


/  ^  "  7 


V.  / 


PREFACE 

The  object  of  this  colkv-tion  is  to  show  the  growth  and 
development  of  Enghsh  Pros.',  by  extracts  from  the  principal 
and  most  characteristic  writers.  In  the  introductory  notice  to 
each  author,  only  so  much  of  biographical  detail  has  been 
given  as  may  enable  the  reader  to  judge  Uie  general  circum- 
stances of  the  author's  life  and  surroundings,  and  the  scope  of 
his  work  ;  and  to  this  is  added  a  critical  description  of  his 
style  and  methods,  and  of  his  place  in  the  development  of 
English  Prose.  It  is  thought  that  the  specimens  thus  brought 
together  may  prove  useful  to  the  student  of  our  literature,  as 
a  supplement  to  the  histories  of  that  literature  now  chiefly  in 
use. 

It  has  been  judged  best,  as  a  rule,  to  modernise  the 
spelling  and  to  bring  it  into  conformity  with  modern  usage, 
except  in  a  few  instances  where  the  expressions  used  belong 
to  some  peculiar  dialect  and  represent  a  distinct  and  interesting 
variety.  Peculiar  words  are  printed  in  italics,  and  are  ex- 
plained in  the  notes  at  the  end  of  each  volume.  For  this 
arrangement  the  Editor  alone  is  responsible. 


CONTENTS 


Introduction         .... 

Sir  John  MaNdevii.le 
The  Lady  of  the  Land  . 
Of  the  Quali;;es  of  the  Right  Balm 
The  Castle  of  the  Sparrowhawk 
The  State  of  Prester  John 

John  Wycliffe  (1324-1384) 
Extracts  from  Sermons  . 
A  Short  Rule  of  Life 
The  Clergy  subject  to  the  Civil  Magistrate 

Chaucer  (about  1340-1400) 

Preface  to  the  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe 
Description  of  Hell 

Reginald  Pecock  (aliout  1396-1460) 
The  Uses  of  Logic 
Reason  and  Scripture     . 
Divinity  and  Moral  Philosophy 
Reasonable  Use  of  Images 
Defence  of  Religious  Orders 

Mai.ory  (about  1470) 

Extracts  from  the  Morie  d^ Arthur 

Sir  John  Foktescue  (about  1394- 1476)   . 
Extracts  from  the  Govername  of  England 
The  Lawyer  refuting  his  own  Arguments 


PAGE 

W.  p.  Ker 

I 

G.  Saintsbury 

19 

22 

23 

24 

25 

The  Editor 

27 

. 

30 

36 

• 

37 

W.  P.  Ker 

39 

• 

44 

45 

The  Editor 

50 

53 

54 

55 

56 

57 

J   IV.  I/ales 

60 

63 

H.  R.  Keichel       . 

77 

Si 

86 

ENGLISH  PROSE 


John  Capgrave  (1393- 1464)  .  .         /.  Chtnton  Collins 

Dedication  to  Edward  IV.  .... 

Causes  of  the  Longevity  of  the  Antedihivians    . 
The  Vision  which  appeared  to  Augustus  Caesar 
The  Story  of  Count  Leopold      .... 
The  Cjhost  of  Bishop  Grosleste  appears  to  the  Pope 

William  Caxton  (about  1415-1491)  .         The  Editor 

Prologue  to  the  Recueil  des  Histoires  de  Trove  . 
Epilogue  to  the  Dictes  and  Sayings  of  the  Philosophers 
Piety  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth  .... 
The  Character  of  the  True  Knight  .  .  . 

Robert  Fabyan  (d.  1511)  .  .         The  Editor 

Charlemagne      ...... 

William  with  the  Long  Beard    .  .  »  . 

Wat  Tyler's  Rebellion    ..... 

Marriage  of  Richard  II.  and  Isabel  of  France    . 
Lord   Berners  (about  1467-1532).  .  The  Editor 

Extract  from  the  Preface  .... 

The  Death  of  King  Robert  the  Bruce    . 

How  the  Town  of  Calais  was  given  up  . 

The  Bird  in  borrowed  Feathers 

The  French  King  seized  by  Madness     . 

Froissart's  Visit  to  England        .... 

John  Fisher  (about  1465-1535)     .  .         The  Editor 

Dependence  upon  Divine  Mercy 

Character  of  Henry  VII.  .... 

Character  of  Margaret,  Countess  of  Richmond  . 
Comparison  between  the  Life  of  Hunters  and  that  of  Christians 

Sir  Thomas  More  (1478- 1535)     .  .         H.  R.  Reichel 

Pasturage  destroying  Plusbandry 
The  Doctrine  of  the  Utopians    . 
King  Richard  III.  in  Council     . 
Plunder  of  the  Church  by  Heretics 
The  Apology  of  Sir  Thomas  More 
How  far  is  Recreation  lawful 


CONTENTS 


William  Tyndale  (about  1490- 1536)        .  W.  P.  Kcr 

Of  Worshipping  of  Sacraments  . 
Pilgrimages 

Sir  Thomas  Elyot  (about  148S-1546)      .         Alfred  Aingcr 
What  Order  should  be  in  Learning 
The  Decay  of  Learning  among  Gentlemen 
Prince  Henry's  Placability 

CoVERDALE       (1488-  1569)      AND      THE      EarLY      TRANSLATIONS 

/.  M.  Dodds 
Prologue  to  the  Translation  of  the  Bible 
Thomas  Cranmer  (1489- 1556)      .  .        J.  Chur.'on  Collins 

The  Uses  of  Holy  Scripture 
Faith  and  Works 
The  Dangers  of  False  Doctrine 
The  Good  of  Sound  Teaching   . 

Hugh  Latimer  (about  1491-1555)  .         IV.  P.  Ker 

Decay  of  the  Yeomanry 
Duties  and  Respect  of  Judges    . 
Illegal  Profits  of  King's  Officers 

John  Leland  (about  1500- 1552)    .  .        J.  M.  Dodds 

The  Laborious  Journey  of  John  Leland 

The  Complaint  of  Scotland  (1549)     .         IV.  P.  Ker 
Ane  Monologue  of  the  Actor 

George  Cavendish  (about  1500-1561)     .         W.  P.  Ke, 
A  Great  House  in  France 
The  King  entertained  at  York  Place 
Augury  .... 

Sir  John  Cheke  (1514-1557)        .  .         The  Editor 

The  Lessons  of  Sedition 
Treason  judged  by  its  Fruits 
The  Blessings  of  Peace  . 

Roger  Ascham  (1515-1568)  ,  .         The  Editor 

A  Plea  for  Music 
A  Defence  of  Archery    . 


185 
188 

191 
194 
196 


201 
205 
211 

215 
216 
219 
220 

223 
227 
229 
232 

235 
237 

239 
241 

243 

245 
247 
251 

255 
259 
262 
264 

267 
270 
272, 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


False  Flattery  of  the  Scots 

A  Dialogue  in  the  Socratic  Manner 

What  we  may  learn  from  Athens 

The  Force  of  Example  . 

Books  that  do  hurt 

Thomas  Wilson  (about  1526- 15S1)  .         F.  H.  Trench 

A  Lesson  in  Tactics 
The  Virtue  of  Simplicity 
The  Uses  of  Wit 
Rules  of  Art 
Intolerance  in  Rome 
The  Teaching  of  Poets  . 

John  Knox  (1505- 1572)     .  .  'J-  M.  Uodds 

John  Knox  chosen  as  Preacher  . 
Knox  and  Queen  Mary  . 
The  Necessity  of  Schools 

George  Buchanan  (1506-1582)    .  .        J.  M.  Dodds 

Chamseleon 
Conspiracies  against  King  James  V. 

Raphael  Holinshed  (about  1515-1573)   .  Mary  Darmesteter 

The  Flight  of  the  Empress  from  Oxford 
The  Weird  Sisters 
The  Murder  of  the  Little  Princes 
The  Trial  of  Queen  Katharine  . 

John  Foxe  (1516-1587)      .  .  •        /•  -l-^-  Dodds 

Cranmer  at  the  Stake     . 
Rose  Allin 
Cicely  Ormes 

Sir  Thomas  North  (d.  about  1603)         .        C.  WhibUy 

The  Greatness  of  Pericles 

Volumnia's  Pleading 

The  Flight  of  Antony    . 
Philemon  Holland  (1552-1637)  and  the  Ci.assicai.  Tkans 

lators  .  .  .  .  .         C.  IVIiiblcy 


349 


CONTENTS 


XI 


Marcellus  and  Hannibal  at  Nola 

Grief  and  Siuldt-n  Joy     . 

The  Metamorphosis  of  Lucius  Apuleius 

The  End  of  Cyrus 

Great  Britain  and  her  Inhabitants 

John  Stow  (1525-1605) 

Oration  of  Sir  PhiHp  Sidney 
May  Day  in  London 
Whitehall 

John  Lyi.y  (1553-1606) 
Love's  Constancy 

Robert  Parsons  (1546-1610) 

Extracts'  from  the  Christian  Directory 
The  Security  of  Ecclesiastical  Order 
Disturbers  of  Peaceful  Union     . 

Stephen  Gosson  (about  1555- 1624) 
Modern  Luxury 
The  Evils  of  Stage  Plays 
What  is  Pleasure  ? 
The  Playmakers'  Sophistries  exposed 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  (1554-1586)     . 

The  King  of  Arcadia  and  his  Daughter 

Horsemanship    . 

The  Esquire's  Death 

Pamela's  Faith  . 

Parthenia's  Return  to  Argalus  . 

Lyric  and  Heroic  Poetry 

The  Honour  of  Poesy 

Lord  Brooke  (1554-1628) 
William  of  Orange 
Sidney's  Religion 
Of  England  and  Spain 
A  Honeymoon   . 
The  Excellence  of  Duty 


/.  M.  Dodds 


W.  P.  Ker 


Vernon  Blackburn 


G.  Saintsbiijy 


W.   11 


'ard 


Saints 


ury 


354 
356 
358 
361 
363 

367 
3:0 
371 
372 

375 
379 

385 
387 
388 
390 

391 
393 
394 
396 
398 
401 
409 
410 
412 

413 

417 
419 
421 

423 
427 
428 
429 
430 
431 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


William  Wlbbe  (1586)      .  .  .         W.  P.  Ker 

An  Account  of  English  Poets 

George  Puttenham  (1589)  .  .         IV.  P.  A't 

English  Poets     . 

Lord  Burleigh  (1520-159S)         .  .         JV.  Minto 

Ten  Precepts 

Spenser  (1552- 1599)  .  .  -J-  ^^-  Hales 

Irish  Costume    . 
Irish  Bards 
The  Misery  of  Ireland    . 

Richard  Hooker  (about  1553-1600)         .  Vernon  Blackburn 

Calvin's  Return  to  Geneva 
Christian  Unity  Counselled 
Man's  Desire  for  Happiness 
Defence  of  Church  Ceremonial . 
The  Doctrine  of  Grace  . 
Man's  Sinfulness 
Hooker's  Defence  of  Himself    . 
Justice  and  the  Harmony  of  Creation 
A  Virtuous  Woman 
An  Appeal 

Richard  Knolles  (about  1544- 1610)         .         G.  Samtsbury 
Amurath 
Mahomet  and  Irene 

William  Camden  (1551-1623)       .  .         Edmund  Gosse 

The  Beauties  of  the  Isle  of  Britain 
Of  its  Inhabitants 
King  Canute 
The  Earl  Marshal  of  England    . 

James  Melville  (1556-1614) 

Shipwrecked  Captains  of  the  Armada 

P'chard  Hakluyt  (about  1 553-1616)       .  IV. 

Principal  Navigations,  etc.,  of  the  English  Nation 
Drake  at  Nombre  de  Dios 


P.  AVr 


P.  Ker 


CONTENTS 


xiu 


Sir  Walter  Raleigh  (1552-1618) 
The  Revenge 
A  Useful  Hostage 
Misdeeds  of  Henry  VIH. 
The  Attributes  of  God  . 
Death     . 

The  Law  of  Change 
The  Absence  of  the  Queen 

Thomas  Lodge  (about  1556- 1625) 
A  Rake's  Progress 
The  Wrestling  Match     . 
Evening  and  Morning  in  Arden 

Robert  Greene  (about  1560-1592) 
Italian  Suitors    . 
The  Cupbearer's  Dilemma 
Bellaria's  Babe  . 
An  Arcadian  Wit-combat 
A  Parthian  Prayer 

Thomas  Nash  (1567-1600) 

How  the  Herring  became  King  of  all  I 

Religious  Faction 

A  Latter-day  Appeal 

John  of  Leyden  and  his  Crew 

Surrey's  Knight-Errantry 

Samuel  Daniel  (1562-1619) 
A  Defence  of  Rhyme     . 
The  Limits  of  Authority 
Let  us  be  True  to  Ourselves 

Thomas  Dekker  (about  1565- 1640) 
City  Hunting 
How  the  Warren  is  made 
The  Tumbler's  Hunting  Dry-foot 
The  Tumbler's  Hunting  Counter 
The  Dove 


E^ 


imun  '  Ccs 


IV.    Ward 


JV.    Ward 


w.  n 


'ard 


ishes 


G. 


G. 


Saintsbtiry 


Saintsbtiry 


527 
533 
533 
534 
535 
536 
536 
537 

539 
542 

544 
547 

551 
555 
556 
557 
559 
562 

565 
568 

570 
571 
573 
575 

577 
579 
579 
5S0 

5S3 
5S5 
585 
586 

587 
5S8 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


The  Pelican 
The  Phoenix 

William  Clowes  (1540- 1604) 
The  Boasting  of  a  Quack 
A  Braggart's  Fate 


Norman  Moore 


Timothy  Bright  (1551-1615)        .  .        A'onnan  Moore 

How  the  Soul  by  one  Simple  Faculty  performeth  so  many  and 
Divers  Actions  ..... 


PAGE 

589 
590 

591 

592 

593 
595 

596 


NOTES 


599 


ENGLISH    PROSE 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  EARLIER  HISTORY  OF  ENGLISH   PROSE 

The  attraction  of  medieval  literature  comes  perhaps  more  strongly 
from  some  other  countries  than  from  England.  In  France 
and  Provence,  in  Germany  and  Iceland,  there  were  literary 
adventurers  more  daring  and  achievements  more  distinguished. 
It  was  not  in  England  that  the  most  wonderful  things  were 
produced  ;  there  is  nothing  in  old  English  that  takes  hold 
of  the  mind  with  that  masterful  and  subduing  power  which 
still  belongs  to  the  lyrical  stanzas  of  the  troubadours  and 
minnesingers,  to  Welsh  romance,  or  to  the  epic  prose  of  the 
Iceland  histories. 

The  Norman  Conquest  degraded  the  English  language  from 
its  literary  rank,  and  brought  in  a  new  language  for  the  politer 
literature.  It  did  not  destroy,  in  one  sense  it  did  not  absolutely 
interrupt,  English  literature  ;  but  it  took  away. the  English  literary 
standard,  and  threw  the  country  back  into  the  condition  of  Italy 
before  Dante — an  anarchy  of  dialects.  When  a  new  literary 
language  was  established  in  the  time  of  Chaucer,  the  Middle  Ages 
were  nearly  over  :  and  so  it  happened  that  for  the  greatest  of  the 
medieval  centuries,  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth,  the  centuries  of 
the  Crusades,  of  the  Hohenstaufen  Emperors,  of  St.  Francis, 
St.  Dominic,  and  St.  Louis,  there  is  in  English  no  great  repre- 
sentative work  in  prose  or  rhyme.  There  are  better  things,  it  is 
true,  than  the  staggering  rhythms  of  Layamon,  or  the  wooden 
precision  of  Orm  :  the  Ancren  Riwle  is  better.  But  there  is  no 
one  who  can  be  taken,  as  some  of  the  writers  in  other  countries 

VOL.  I.  15  B 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


can- — Crestien  de  Troies,  for  instance,  or  Walther  von  der 
Vogelweide,  or  Villehardouin — there  is  no  one  in  England  who 
can  be  taken  for  a  representative  poet  or  orator,  giving  out  what 
can  be  recognised  at  once,  and  is  recognised  instinctively,  as  the 
best  possible  literary  work  of  its  own  day  and  its  own  kind.  The 
beauty  of  medieval  poetry  and  prose  is  not  to  be  found  in  England, 
or  only  in  a  faint  reflected  way.  England  did  not  possess  the  heart 
of  the  mystery.  To  spend  much  time  with  the  worthy  clerks 
who  promoted  Christian  and  useful  knowledge  in  the  thirteenth 
and  fourteenth  century  dialects  of  Lincoln  or  Yorkshire,  Kent  or 
Dorset,  is  to  acquire  an  invincible  appetite  for  the  glory  of  other, 
countries  not  quite  so  tame,  for  the  pride  of  life  of  the  castles 
and  gardens  of  Languedoc  or  Swabia,  for  the  winds  of  the  forest 
of  Broceliande.  Not  in  the  English  tongue  were  the  great  stories 
told.  Almost  everything  in  the  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages  that 
is  out  of  the  common,  that  is  in  any  sense  magical  or  inspired, 
comes  from  beyond  the  English  borders. 

For  all  this  want  of  distinction  there  is  some  compensation 
The  early  English  literature,  if  not  representative  of  what  is 
keenest  and  strongest,  or  most  exalted,  in  the  intellect  of  Europe 
in  these  times,  is  admirably  fitted  to  convey  to  after  generations 
both  the  common  sense  and  the  commonplaces  of  Western  civil- 
isation, from  the  ninth  century  onward.  A  study  of  English 
literature  alone  would  give  a  very  false  and  insufficient  idea  of 
the  heights  attained  in  the  progress  of  European  literature  as  a 
whole  :  for  there  were  worlds  of  imagination  and  poetical  art 
which  were  open  to  some  of  the  other  nations,  and  not  at  all  or 
very  imperfectly  to  the  English.  But  English  literature  contains 
and  preserves,  in  a  better  and  completer  form  than  elsewhere, 
the  common  ideas,  the  intellectual  and  educational  ground-work 
of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  and  that  is  something.  The  average  mind 
at  any  rate  is  well  represented.  Prose  and  its  development  can 
be  observed  very  fully  and  satisfactorily  from  a  very  early  date. 
One  of  the  chief  interests  of  the  early  literature  is  that  it  reflects 
the  process  by  which  the  native  Teutonic  civilisation  of  the 
English  became  metamorphosed  by  the  intrusion  of  alien  ideas, 
either  Latin  or  transmitted  through  Latin  ;  by  the  struggles  of 
the  English  mind  to  overcome  and  assimilate  'the  civilisation  of 
the  Roman  Empire.  Sometimes  it  is  easy,  sometimes  not  so 
easy,  to  distinguish  the  two  kinds  of  thinking,  native  and  foreign. 
The   alliterative   heroic  poetry  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  is  inherited, 


INTRODUCTION 


not  imported  ;  it  is  the  product  of  centuries  during  which  the 
German  tribes  were  educating  themselves,  and  mailing  experi- 
ments in  poetry  (among  other  things)  till  they  gradually  formed 
the  established  epic  type,  which  in  essentials,  in  style  and 
phrasing,  and  even  in  subject  matter,  is  common  to  Continental 
Germany  and  Scandinavia,  in  early  times,  along  with  England.  It 
may  be  compared,  even  by  temperate  critics,  to  the  Homeric  poetry 
of  Greece,  and  the  comparison  need  not  be  misleading.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  prose,  on  the  other  hand,  much  of  which  is  contempor- 
aneous with  the  heroic  poetry,  is  generally  derivative  and  Latin 
in. spirit,  repeating  and  adapting  ideas  that  are  very  far  removed 
from  simplicity.  While  on  the  one  hand  there  are  analogies  with 
the  Homeric  age  and  the  Homeric  poems  in  Anglo-Saxon  society 
and  poetry,  on  the  other  hand  there  are  many  things  in  the  work  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  writers  which  make  one  think  of  the  way  Euro- 
pean ideas  are  now  being  taken  up,  without  preparation,  in  the  East 
— of  the  wholesale  modern  progress  of  Japan,  and  its  un-Hellenic 
confusion.  The  spectacle  is  sometimes  painful  ;  it  cannot  be  called 
dull.  The  same  sort  of  thing,  the  conflict  of  the  two  realms  of 
ideas,  German  and  Latin,  went  on  in  all  modern  nations,  begin- 
ning in  the  first  encounter  of  the  Northern  tribes  with  the 
intellectual  and  spiritual  powers  of  Rome.  This  conflict  is  really 
the  whole  matter  of  early  modern  history.  In  England  its 
character  is  brought  out  more  plainly  than  elsewhere,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  Norman  Conquest  and  other  interfering  circumstances,  the 
process  or  progress  is  continuous.  For  which  reason,  if  for 
nothing  else,  it  is  convenient  to  begin  at  the  beginning  in  dealing 
with  the  history  of  English  poetry  or  prose. 

The  work  for  which  prose  was  needed  first  of  all  was  mainly 
that  of  instruction  ;  and  of  the  early  didactic  prose  a  great  part  is 
translation  or  adaptation.  From  the  time  of  Ulfilas  to  the  time  of 
Wyclifife  and  the  time  of  Caxton,  and  since,  there  has  been  cease- 
less activity  of  the  workers  who  have  had  to  quarry  into,  and 
break  up,  and  make  portable  and  useful,  the  great  mass  left  by 
the  older  civilisations  for  the  Goths  and  their  successors  to  do 
their  best  with. 

The  early  English  literature  is  strong  in  translations.  Transla- 
tions were  the  books  most  necessary  for  people  who  wanted  to 
know  about  things,  and  who  knew  that  the  most  important 
questions  had  already  been  answered  by  the  Latin  authors,  so 
that  it  was  a  waste  of  time  for  the  English  or  other  simple  folk 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


to  try  to  find  out  things  for  themselves.  The  quarry  of  Latin 
learning  was  worked  zealously,  and  the  evidences  left  by  that 
activity  are  more  than  respectable.  The  Anglo-Saxon  Bible 
versions,  and  Alfred's  library  of  text-books — Orosius,  Boetius, 
Gregory,  and  the  translation  of  }5ede's  history — are  works  which 
in  point  of  style  have  attained  the  virtues  of  plain  narration  or 
exposition,  and  even  something  more  ;  and  the  matter  of  them  is 
such  as  was  not  antiquated  for  many  centuries  after  Alfred.  It 
was  long  before  the  other  nations  were  as  well  provided  in  their 
own  languages  with  useful  hand-books  of  instruction.  Besides 
the  translations,  there  were  other  didactic  works  in  different 
departments.  There  is  a  considerable  stock  of  sermons — some 
of  them  imaginative  and  strong  in  narrative,  like  the  one  on  the 
Harrowing  of  Hell  in  the  Blickling  Homilies^  and  others,  like 
the  Sermones  CatJioIici  of  ^Ifric,  more  soft  and  gentle  in  their 
tone,  more  finished  in  their  rhetoric.  These  may  not  appeal  to 
every  reader ;  but  the  same  might  be  said  of  the  works  of  many 
later  divines  than  ^Ifric. 

The  old  English  educational  literature — hand-books  and 
homilies — -had  merits  that  were  of  lasting  importance.  The 
history  of  English  prose  cannot  afford  to  ignore  the  books  which, 
whatever  may  have  been  their  shortcomings,  established  good 
habits  of  composition,  made  it  fairly  easy,  for  those  who  would, 
to  put  English  "words  together  into  sentences,  and  gave  more 
than  one  good  pattern  of  sentence  for  students  to  copy.  The 
rhetorical  value  of  the  didactic  prose  will  be  rated  high  by  any 
one  who  values  a  sound  convention  or  tradition  of  ordinary  prose 
style  for  ordinary  useful  purposes.  There  are  higher  kinds  of 
literature  than  the  useful ;  but  it  is  something  to  have  different 
kinds  of  useful  prose  at  one's  command,  and  this  in  the  tenth 
century  was  singular  and  exceptional  among  the  vernacular  tongues 
of  the  North  and  West.  In  so  far  as  the  intellectual  problem 
for  the  early  English  prose  writers  was  the  reproduction  of  Latin 
learnmg,  they  took  the  right  way  to  solve  it,  and  were  more 
than  fortunate  in  the  machinery  they  invented  and  used  to  adapt 
and  work  up  the  old  Latin  materials. 

The  difficulty  of  the  problem  may  easily  be  underestimated. 
There  were  many  things  to  hinder  the  adoption  of  a  decent  prose 
convention.  There  was  on  the  one  hand  the  danger  of  a  close 
and  slavish  imitation  of  the  foreign  models.  One  is  reminded 
by  a  clumsy  participle  absolute  here  and  there  that  the  temptation 


INTRODUCTION 


which  was  too  much  for  Ulfilas  also  beset  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
who  for  the  most  part  resisted  successfully  the  temptations  of 
foreign  grammatical  constructions,  comparing  well  in  this  respect 
not  only  with  the  Grecisms  of  Ulfilas,  but  with  the  distracted 
participles  of  the  Wycliffite  Bible.  The  Latinism  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  prose  is  to  be  found  mainly  in  the  use  of  conditional 
clauses  and  a  closer  bracing  of  the  parts  of  the  sentence  than 
comes  naturally  in  primitive  essays. 

There  was  another  danger  besides  that  of  helpless  and  slavish 
admiration  of  Latin  syntax,  a  danger  perhaps  greater,  which  was 
not  so  well  evaded,  the  tendency,  namely,  to  get  beyond  the  tones 
of  prose  altogether  into  something  half  poetical.  Prose  is  more 
difficult  than  verse  in  some  stages  of  literature,  and  where  a  good 
deal  of  prose  was  made  to  be  read  or  recited,  where  the  homilist 
was  the  rival  of  the  poet  or  the  story-teller,  there  is  small  wonder 
that  often  the  sermons  fell  into  a  chanting'  tone,  and  took  over 
from  the  poets  their  alliteration  and  other  ornaments.  This  pro- 
pensity to  recitative  of  different  sorts  is  common  to  the  whole  of 
medieval  prose,  and  is  worth  considering  later.  Meantime  there 
is  matter  for  congratulation  in  the  fact  that  so  much  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  didactic  literature  should  have  escaped  the  two  perils  of 
concessions  to  Latin  syntax  on  the  one  hand  and  to  the  popular 
taste  for  poetical  decoration  on  the  other. 

The  edifying  and  educational  derivative  prose  is  what  bulks 
largest,  but  it  is*  not  the  only  prose  written  in  Anglo-Saxon  times. 
There  is  another  sort,  and  a  higher,  though  the  amount  of  it  is 
woefully  small. 

If  one  is  justified  in  discriminating  what  may  be  called  the 
primitive  or  native  element  from  the  Latin  or  adventitious  element 
in  the  old  literature  and  the  old  civilisation,  then  one  may  put 
certain  Anglo-Sa.xon  prose  works  along  with  the  remains  of  the 
heroic  poetry,  along  with  the  lays  of  Finnesburh  and  Maldon,  as 
showing  what  could  be  done  without  the  aid  of  Southern  learning 
in  dealing  with  lively  matters  of  experience,  and  the  lives  and 
adventures  of  kings  and  chieftains.  If  there  were  nothing  to  take 
account  of  except  the  translations  and  the  sermons,  there  would 
'  still  be  room  for  satisfaction  at  the  literary  skill  and  promise 
shown  in  them  ;  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  claim  for  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  prose  more  than  the  merit  of  being  a  vehicle  for  the  com- 
mon ideas  of  Christendom.  But  there  is  more  than  that  ;  there 
are,  besides  the  borrowed  views  and  ideas,  a  set  of  notes  taken 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


at  first  hand  from  the  living  world,  which  have  a  different  value 
from  the  homilies.  The  best  of  yElfric's  homilies  are  as  good 
as  the  best  of  their  kind  anywhere.  But  that  kind  is  the  exposi- 
tory literature  which  sets  forth  ideas,  not  the  author's  own,  for  the 
benefit  of  hsteners  on  a  lower  level  than  the  author — his  sheep, 
his  pupils.  That  is  not  the  highest  kind,  and  there  is  a  higher 
to  be  found  in  the  Chronicles,  and  in  the  narratives  of  the 
northern  voyages  brought  in  by  King  Alfred  as  an  original  con- 
tribution to  his  Orosius.  The  record  of  the  Danish  Wars,  the 
voyages  of  Ohthere  and  Wulfstan,  are  literature  of  a  more  difficult 
kind  than  yElfric's  homilies,  and  literature  in  a  sense  that  could 
never  be  applicable  to  any  translation. 

Of  no  old  English  prose  can  it  be  said  that  it  is  wholly  free 
from  Latin  influence  ;  but  in  some  of  the  varying  styles  employed 
in  the  Chronicles,  and  in  the  narratives  of  the  voyages,  one  comes 
as  near  as  one  may  in  early  English  to  natural  prose — prose  of 
the  sort  that  might  have  been  written  by  men  who  had  nothing 
but  natural  English  syntax,  no  Latin  models  of  composition,  to 
guide  them.  Prose  such  as  one  gets  there  is  of  the  rarest  near 
the  beginnings  of  a  literature.  The  last  thing  people  think  of  is 
to  put  down  in  writing  the  sort  of  things  they  talk  about,  and  in 
a  talking  style.  These  particular  passages,  and  the  navigators' 
stories  especially,  are  good  talk  about  interesting  things,  and, 
what  is  more,  about  new  things.  They  are  full  of  life,  and 
strong  ;  there  is  nothing  in  them  to  suggest  the  school  or  the 
pulpit ;  the  people  who  composed  them  were,  for  the  time,  eman- 
cipated from  the  Latin  authority,  out  of  sight  of  land,  the  old 
land  of  traditional  ideas  and  inherited  learning.  Here  is  to  be 
seen  what  they  could  do  when  left  to  themselves  ;  here  is  the  true 
beginning  of  independent  explorations  and  discoveries  in  literature. 
There  is  one  sense  in  which  it  might  be  no  paradox  to  say  that 
these  passages,  as  compared  with  ^Ifric  for  instance,  are  modern 
literature  ;  being  plain  and  clear  accounts  of  real  things,  in  which 
there  are  no  great  corrections  to  be  made  on  account  of  any  dis- 
turbing prejudices.  The  region  of  ^Ifric's  homilies  is  distant 
and  unfamiliar,  but  no  one  feels  any  sense  of  strangeness  in 
listening  to  Ohthere.  There  is  a  clear  northern  light  on  his 
reindeer  and  walruses,  and  the  northern  moors  and  lakes  ; 
the  air  is  free  from  all  the  Idols  of  the  Forum  and  the 
Theatre.  It  was  a  happy  inspiration  that  gave  Ohthere  and 
Wulfstan  their  place  in   Hakluyt's  collection  ;  and  indeed  many 


INTROD  UCTION' 


of  Hakluyt's    men    are    more    old-fashioned    in   their  style,   and 
carry  more  rhetorical  top-hamper  than  Ohthere. 

There  were  great  opportunities  for  prose  of  this  sort — prose 
written  in  the  tone  .of  the  speaking  voice,  and  describing  the 
visible  world  and  the  things  going  on  in  it.  It  is  idle  to  inquire 
why  there  is  so  little  of  such  writing.  One  might  have  expected 
more,  perhaps  ;  for  the  literary  talent  of  the  Teutonic  nations,  as 
far  as  one  may  judge  from  their  poetry,  was  all  in  the  direction 
of  clear  and  realistic  narrative,  with  no  more  superstitious  acci- 
dents than  were  convenient  in  the  lives  of  epic  heroes,  and  no  Celtic 
vagueness  or  airiness,  but  a  sense  of  solidity  and  matter  of  fact 
about  the  very  witches  and  warlocks,  as  well  as  the  hero  and 
champion,  their  enemy.  It  may  have  been  that  in  England, 
where  the  old  epic  style  survived  with  wonderfully  little  modifica- 
tion to  a  late  date,  there  was  the  less  need  felt  for  any  epic  prose. 
The  poem  on  the  Battle  of  Maldon  (a.d.  991)  has  all  the  strong 
virtues  of  a  dramatic  prose  history,  and  its  poetic  graces  are 
consistent  with  prose  sobriety.  Perhaps  if  this  close-knit  and 
masterly  style,  this  old  simple  epic  tradition  had  not  maintained 
itself,  if  the  English  war  poetry  had  been  dissolved,  like  its 
kindred  in  Norway  and  Iceland,  into  pure  formalism  and  peri- 
phrasis, then  perhaps  the  history  of  the  Battle  of  Maldon  and  the 
fall  of  Byrhtnoth  might  have  survived  as  a  prose  history,  with  all 
its  epic  details  and  all  its  various  individual  personages.  Byrht- 
noth's  adversary  and  conqueror,  Olaf  Trj'ggvason,  had  his  life 
written  in  that  way,  and  the  prose  story  of  his  last  battle  has 
more  likeness  to  the  methods  of  epic  poetry  than  to  such  unima- 
ginative history  as  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicles.  But  not  much 
is  to  be  gained  by  theorising  in  this  direction,  and  the  unrealised 
possibilities  may  be  left  to  dispose  of  themselves.  Only,  in 
illustration  of  the  prose  genius  latent  in  the  old  English  poetry, 
one  passage  of  the  Chronicle  may  be  remembered — the  episode 
of  Cyneheard  and  Cynewulf  given  under  the  date  755.  It  is  rude 
and  harsh  in  its  phrasing,  but  dramatic,  with  its  dialogue  admir- 
ably calculated  and  its  sequence  of  events  well  managed  :  this 
passage  is  probably  a  prose  rendering  of  some  ballad.  The 
situation  is  one  that  occurs  again  and  again  in  heroic  poetry  and 
prose  ;  it  is  the  story  of  kings  fighting  for  their  lives  against  their 
beleaguering  enemies,  the  story  that  never  fails  of  an  audience, 
whether  the  hero  be  named  Cynewulf,  Cyneheard,  Byrhtnoth, 
or  Roland.     There  is  a  great  resemblance  in  general  outline  to 


8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  history  of  Maldon  ;  there  is  the  same  loyalty  and  self-devotion 
of  the  companions  after  their  lord  is  killed.  What  is  remarkable 
about  this  entry  in  the  Chronicle,  if  it  is  really  based  on  a  poem, 
is  that  it  has  got  rid  of  every  vestige  of  poetical  style  which  would 
have  been  discordant,  and  has  kept  only  those  poetical  qualities, 
qualities  of  passion  or  sentiment,  which  are  as  well  fitted  for 
prose  as  for  verse,  or  better. 

There  is  little  enough  of  such  prose  as  this,  but  there  is  enough 
to  take  hold  of.  Together  with  such  poetry  as  the  poem  of 
Maldon  it  forms  the  strongest  part  of  the  pre-Norman  literature — 
"  the  stalk  of  carl-hemp  "  in  it,  compared  with  which  the  rhetorical 
excellences  of  ^Ifric  are  light  and  unsubstantial.  Contumely 
sometimes  falls  on  the  unreason  the  vapidity,  the  garrulity  of 
medieval  discourses,  and  it  is  sometimes  merited.  At  least  it  is 
difficult  to  refute  the  critic  who  says  that  he  is  bored  by  the  con- 
ventional homilies  and  saints'  lives.  But  for  some  things  a  strong 
defence  may  be  made  ;  for  all  the  old  literature  that  "  shows  the 
thing  right  as  it  was,"  and  gives  adventures  like  those  of  Alfred 
and  his  men  in  the  great  match  played  against  Ha^sten,  or  natural 
history  like  that  of  the  Finns  and  Esthonians.  Medieval  litera- 
ture is  not  all  monotonous  recitative  of  traditional  phrases  ;  some 
of  it  is  fresh,  strong,  natural,  and  sane,  and  speaks  in  a  tone  of 
plain  good  sense. 

This  has  sometimes  been  forgotten  or  ignored,*  both  by  those 
who  have  an  affection  for  medieval  literature,  and  by  others.  So 
many  things  in  the  Middle  Ages  are  quaint  and  exaggerated  and 
overstrained,  and  therefore  interesting,  that  the  sober  reason  and 
plain  sense  of  those  same  times  are  in  a  fair  way  to  be  forgotten. 
There  is  more  fascination  at  first  in  medieval  romance  than  in 
medieval  rationality  ;  the  romance  is  beyond  question,  the  ration- 
ality is  sometimes  doubtful.  It  is  worth  while  to  look  out  for 
places,  like  those  already  cited,  where  there  is  no  trace  of  what 
is  usually  associated  with  the  term  medieval,  no  strained  or 
feverish  sentiment,  no  effusive  and  tautologous  phrasing.  And 
strong  protest  should  be  made  against  all  attempts  to  overlay,  in 
translations  or  criticisms  or  otherwise,  any  of  the  colours  of 
romance  upon  the  simple  fabric  of  plain  stories.  There  is  enough 
and  to  spare  of  romance  ;  true  histories  are  not  so  common  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  They  ought,  whether  in  translations  or  merely 
in  the  reader's  impression  of  them  as  he  reads,  to  be  purged  of 
a-11  unnecessary  quaintness,  where  such  quaintness  as  they  possess 


INTRODUCTION 


is  due  merely  to  the  old  language,  and  not,  as  in  much  of  medieval 
literature,  to  a  real  element  of  fancifulness  in  the  author. 

The  two  classes  of  early  English  prose,  the  derivative  educa- 
tional and  the  original  narrative  literature,  are  alike  in  this,  that 
at  their  best  they  keep  clear  of  all  unnatural  intonations,  and  at 
less  than  their  best  fall  into  chanting  or  recitative  of  one  kind  or 
other.  In  the  edifying  literature  there  are,  as  examples  of  the 
false  style,  the  alliterative  Saints^  Lives  of  ^Ifric  ;  in  the  other 
kind  of  prose  the  Chronicles  themselves  give  a  striking  example  of 
the  change  of  tone.  They  come  to  an  end  with  the  lamentation  of 
the  Peterborough  monk  over  the  miseries  of  the  reign  of  Stephen. 
It  is  simple  and  sincere,  and  in  its  way  good  literature,  though 
it  is  another  way  of  writing  history  from  that  of  the  voyage  of 
Ohthere.  Some  of  it  may  perhaps  be  quoted  again,  well  known 
as  it  is. 

"  Was  never  yet  more  wretchedness  in  the  land,  nor  ever  did 
the  heathen  men  worse  than  these  men  did.  For  never  anywhere 
did  they  spare  either  church  or  churchyard,  but  took  all  the  wealth 
that  was  therein,  and  afterwards  burned  the  church  and  all  to- 
gether. Nor  did  they  forbear  from  bishop's  lands,  or  abbot's,  or 
priest's,  but  plundered  monks  and  clerks,  and  every  man  another, 
wherever  he  might.  If  two  men  or  three  came  riding  to  a  town- 
ship, all  fled  before  them  and  took  them  for  robbers.  The 
bishops  and  priests  cursed  them  continually,  but  they  took  no 
heed  of  that,  for  they  were  all  accursed  utterly,  and  forsworn,  and 
cast  away 

"Wheresoever  there  was  tillage,  the  earth  would  bear  no  corn, 
for  the  land  was  wasted  with  such  deeds  ;  and  they  said  openly 
that  Christ  slept  and  his  saints.  Such  and  more  than  we  can 
say  we  endured  nineteen  years  for  our  sins." 

The  pathetic  and  appealing  tone  of  this  marks  it  at  once  as 
different  in  kind  from  the  firmer  and  more  impersonal  history  of 
the  times  of  Alfred  and  his  sons,  and  brings  it  into  relation  with 
all  the  medieval  literature  in  which  the  prevailing  mood  is  elegiac. 
So  widely  diffused  is  this  melancholy,  that  one  is  inclined  often  to 
take  it  for  the  dominant  and  almost  universal  character  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  as  expressed  in  books.  It  belongs  to  devotional 
works  and  to  romances,  to  the  Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  to  the 
Romance  of  the  Rose  ;  and  even  the  strongest  and  manliest 
writers,  writers  like  Villehardouin  and  Joinville,  are  often  apt  to 
lose  their  self-possession,  and  let  their  voices  break  and  tremble. 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


Pathos  was  a  strong  solvent  in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  belongs 
especially,  though  not  exclusively,  to  the  later  Middle  Ages,  to 
the  romantic,  not  the  epic  age  ;  not  to  the  matter  of  fact  and 
stubborn  people  who  fought  on  foot  with  swords  and  battle-axes, 
but  to  the  showy  knights  of  the  Crusades,  and  the  times  when 
the  world  was  full  of  ideals  and  fantasies. 

In  England  there  is  one  curious  instance  of  the  way  in  which 
pathos  might  be  multiplied  upon  pathos.  The  Ancreti  Riivle 
(thirteenth  century)  is  a  practical  book  of  instruction  and  advice 
addressed  to  a  small  household  of  nuns.  It  is  not  at  all  mono- 
tonous ;  a  good  deal  of  it  is  kindly,  humorous  and  homely ; 
some  of  it  is  merely  technical,  dealing  with  the  order  of  religious 
services  ;  some  of  it  is  moralising  ;  some  of  it  is  devotional.  One 
part  of  it,  the  Wooing  of  the  Soul,  is  beyond  all  praise  for  its 
pathetic  grace  and  beauty.  It  was  not  left  alone  in  its  serious- 
ness and  its  reserve.  The  theme  was  taken  up  again  and  treated 
with  a  dissolute  ostentation  of  sentiment,  with  tears  and  outcries. 
The  Wooing  of  Our  Lord,  as  compared  with  the  passage  in  the 
Ancren  Riwle,  may  stand  as  one  indication  of  the  sensibility  and 
its  accompanying  rhetoric  that  corrupted  late  medieval  literature 
in  many  ways. 

There  is  so  much  good  prose  in  Europe  between  the  time  of 
Alfred  and  the  time  of  Elizabeth  that  one  may  easily  forget  the 
enormous  difficulties  that  stood  in  the  way  of  it.  Long  after 
Alfred  there  still  remained,  as  a  disturbing  force,  the  natural 
antipathy  of  the  natural  man  to  listen  to  any  continuous  story 
except  in  verse.  The  dismal  multitude  of  versified  encyclopedias, 
the  rhyming  text -books  of  science,  history,  and  morality,  are 
there  to  witness  of  the  reluctance  with  which  prose  was  accepted 
to  do  the  ordinary  prose  drudgery.  The  half-poetical  prose  of 
.^Elfric's  Lives  of  Saints  is  to  be  explained  as  a  concession  to  the 
sort  of  popular  taste  which,  later,  gave  a  hearing  to  prodigies  like 
the  Cursor  Mundi,  or,  to  take  the  last  of  the  rhyming  encyclopedias, 
written  by  a  man  who  ought  to  have  known  better,  the  Monarchy 
of  Sir  David  Lyndesay.  The  audience  expected  something  finer 
than  spoken  language,  and  the  taste  that  accepted  the  allitera- 
tive homilies  may  be  compared  with  that  which  preserves  the 
gaudy  poetical  patches  in  the  Celtic  traditional  fairy  stories,  or 
that  which  requires  from  Welsh  preachers  that  half  of  each 
sermon  should  be  sung. 

Besides  the  popular  disrelish  for  plain  prose,  there  were  other 


INTRODUCTION 


distracting  and  degrading  influences.  The  Latin  models  were 
not  always  as  good  as  Boetius  or  Bede.  Even  Orosius,  guiltless 
as  he  is  of  any  brilliant  extravagance,  has  his  tirades  of  complaint, 
helping  to  spread  the  sentimental  contagion  ;  and  even  Boetius, 
by  providing  pieces  of  verse  for  King  Alfred  to  turn  into  prose, 
encouraged  an  over-poetical  manner  of  phrasing.  The  Latin 
Bible  also,  by  its  prose  versions  of  poetical  books,  its  parallelism 
of  construction,  its  solemn  rhythms,  its  profusion  of  metaphor,  did 
much,  unfortunately,  to  embolden  the  rhetoricians  of  the  Church. 
The  secular  Latin  literature,  though  it  showed  marvellous  powers  of 
recovering  its  decorum,  yet  was  always  prone  to  fall  back  into  the 
wantonness  that  attacked  it  after  thie  close  of  the  Augustan  age, 
when  the  poetical  treasury  was  profaned  and  ransacked  by 
magnificent  prodigals  like  Apuleius.  Even  the  later  Greek 
Euphuism  of  the  Greek  romances  found  its  way  to  England, 
through  the  Latin  romance  of  Apollonius  of  Tyre,  and  ensnared  an 
Anglo-Saxon  man  of  letters,  just  as  Heliodorus  attracted  the 
novelists  of  France,  England,  and  Spain  five  hundred  years  later. 
The  wonder  is  that  any  simplicity  remained  at  all. 

It  is  a  long  way  from  the  tenth  or  thirteenth  century  to  the 
sixteenth,  yet  in  the  age  of  Ehzabeth  the  general  conditions 
determining  the  growth  of  prose  were  not  greatly  different  from 
those  that  obtained  at  the  beginning.  Latin  literature  was  still 
the  model,  and  still,  in  some  cases,  the  too-absorbing  model,  of 
prose.  Still  there  remained  the  old  temptation  to  excess  of 
ornament,  to  poetical  gaudiness ;  and  though  the  Elizabethan 
rhetoric  is  different  from  yEIfric's,  there  is  more  than  a  chance 
likeness  between  the  Anglo-Saxon  Apollonius  and  the  sugared 
descriptions  of  the  Euphuists.  And  it  was  still  possible  for  a 
strong-minded  original  man  like  Latimer  to  discard  the  conven- 
tions of  bookish  tradition  and  write  the  spoken  language. 

A  great  deal  of  prose  was  written  between  the  Ancren  Riwle 
and  the  Repressotir^  between  the  Repressour  and  the  Ecclesiastical 
Polity,  but  the  general  conditions  do  not  greatly  alter.  There 
was  always  Latin  literature  at  the  back  of  everything,  with  Boetius 
coming  clear  through  the  Middle  Ages,  to  be  translated  by  Queen 
Elizabeth  in  her  turn,  after  Chaucer  and  King  Alfred.  There 
was  always  French  literature  to  control  and  give  direction  to  the 
English. 

This  volume  of  selections,  beginning  in  the  fourteenth  century 
with  Wyclifife,  Chaucer,  and  the  book  called  Mandeville,  does  not 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


begin  with  any  early  improvisings  of  a  style.  The  style  of  these 
writers  is  fully  formed — a  common  pattern  of  style,  common  over 
all  the  countries  of  Europe.  The  reason  for  beginning  here  and 
not  earlier  is  a  reason  not  of  style,  but  of  vocabulary.  The  four- 
teenth century  is  not  in  prose  what  it  is  in  poetry.  There  is  no 
great  revolution,  like  that  which  through  the  agency  of  Chaucer 
brought  English  poetry  out  of  its  corners  and  bye-ways,  and  made 
it  fit  to  be  presented  at  the  King's  court.  English  prose,  which 
had  bee.i  decent  and  respectable  hundreds  of  years  before 
Chaucer,  continued  to  be  respectable  after  him.  Prose  was  not 
affected  in  Chaucer's  time  by  the  revival  of  classical  taste  in 
Italy.  The  lessons  of  artistic  construction  which  Chaucer  learned 
from  the  poems  of  Boccaccio  were  not  paralleled  by  any  imitations 
in  his  prose  of  the  classical  elegances  of  the  Decameron.  The 
styles  of  the  earliest  authors  in  this  book  are  to  be  taken  as 
specimens  of  that  general  level  of  composition  which  was  the 
property  of  medieval  Christendom,  and  one  of  the  outward  signs 
of  the  uniformity  of  its  culture. 

In  the  fourteenth  century  one  need  not  be  surprised  to  find 
that  a  good  deal  of  the  prose  of  all  the  countries  of  Europe  is  a 
little  monotonous  and  jaded.  For  the  general  character  of  pro- 
gress had  been  a  levelling  down  of  national  distinctions,  and  a 
distribution  over  the  whole  field  of  the  same  commonplaces,  so 
that  one  finds  the  same  books  current  everywhere,  the  same 
stories  :  the  popular  learning  in  the  vernacular  tongues  became 
almost  as  clear  of  any  national  or  local  character  as  the  philosophy 
of  the  schools.  Naturally  there  was  some  loss  of  vigour  in  the  pro- 
cess, and  the  later  medieval  writers  are  exhausting  sometimes  with 
their  want  of  distinctive  peculiarities,  their  contented  rehearsals 
of  old  matter  in  a  hackneyed  phraseology.  Prose  literature  taught 
and  preached  so  much  that  it  lost  all  spring  and  freshness  ;  it 
suffered  from  an  absorbing  interest  in  the  weaker  brethren,  and 
became  too  condescendingly  simple.  The  childlike  simplicity  of 
medieval  prose  is  sometimes  a  little  hypocritical  and  fawning. 
Prose  had  been  too  long  accustomed  to  talk  down  to  its 
audiences. 

In  the  fifteenth  century  there  is  something  more  than  repeti- 
tion of  old  forms.  There  are  two  argumentative  books  which  are 
fresh  and  new  —  Bishop  Pecock's  Repressour  and  Sir  John 
Fortescue  on  the  Gover7tiince  of  Etjg/afid.  It  is  a  relief  to  come 
to  these  books  which  .require  thinking,  after  all  the  homilies  and 


INTRODUCTION  13 


moral  treatises  which  require  merely  to  be  listened  to.  The 
great  prose  achievement  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  indeed  of 
the  whole  time  before  the  Advancevietit  of  Learning,  Is  a  book  in 
many  ways  less  original  than  those  of  Pecock  and  Fortescue. 
But  Sir  Thomas  Malory's  Morte  U Arthur,  antique  though  its 
matter  be,  is  singular  in  its  qualities  of  style  ;  and  if  the  books  of 
the  Bishop  and  the  Judge  are  remarkable  for  the  modem  good 
sense  of  their  arguments,  the  Morie  D' Arthur  has  its  own  place 
apart  from  them  in  a  region  of  high  imaginative  prose. 

Many  things  about  the  Morte  U Arthur  are  perplexing  and 
even  irritating.  It  is  a  free  version  of  some  of  the  finest  stories 
ever  made,  and  is  based  on  versions  of  the  multiform  Arthurian 
romance,  which  in  some  respects  are  beyond  comparison  the 
best.  Yet  Malory  has  rejected  some  of  the  best  things  in  the 
"French  book"  which  he  followed.  There  is  nothing  in  Malory 
corresponding  to  the  truth  and  the  dramatic  sincerity  of  the  first 
interview  between  Lancelot  and  the  Queen- — the  passage  which 
Dante  could  not  forget.  Malor)'  never  rises,  as  his  original  here 
does,  out  of  romance  into  drama.  His  refusal  to  finish  the  story 
of  Tristram  is  as  hard  to  understand  as  to  forgive,  and  as  hard 
to  forgive  as  the  Last  Tournament.  But  when  all  is  said  that 
the  Devil's  advocate  can  say,  it  all  goes  for  nothing  compared 
with  what  remains  in  Malory  untouched  and  unblemished  by  any 
hint  of  dispraise. 

Malory  accomplished  one  of  the  hardest  things  in  literature. 
He  had  to  rewrite  in  English  some  of  the  finest  of  medieval  French 
prose,  full  of  romance,  and  of  the  strangest  harmonies  between 
the  spirit  of  romance  and  the  spirit  of  confessors,  saints,  and 
pilgrims.  What  could  be  done  in  those  days  by  adapters  and 
abridgers  one  knows  well  enough.  Caxton  himself  tried  his 
hand  on  some  others  of  the  Nine  Worthies  ;  they  did  not  fare  as 
Arthur  did.  To  know  what  Malory  really  is,  it  is  enough  to 
turn  to  Caxton's  Lyf  0/  Charles  the  Crete  or  Recuyell  of  the  His- 
tories of  Troy.  Malory  kept  in  English  all  the  beauty  of  the 
Queste  del  St.  Craal,  that  strange  confusion  of  Celtic  myth  with 
Christian  dreams,  the  most  representative  among  all  the  books 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  story  suffers  no  wrong  in  the  English 
version ;  there  as  well  as  in  the  French  may  be  heard  the  melancholy 
voices  of  the  adventurers  who  follow  the  radiance  of  Heaven  across 
the  land  of  Morgan  le  Fay.  The  time  in  which  Malory  wrote 
was  not  favourable  to  pure  imaginative  literatui'e — poetry  was  all 


14  ENGLISH  PROSE 


but  extinguished — yet  Malory  was  able  to  revive,  by  some  wonder- 
ful gift,  the  aspirations  and  the  visionary  ardour  of  the  youth  of 
Christendom  —  little  in  agreement,  one  might  fancy,  with  the 
positive  and  selfish  world  described  in  the  Paston  letters.  He 
did  more  than  this  also,  as  may  be  seen  by  a  comparison  of  the 
French  book,  or  books,  with  his  own  writing.  The  style  of  his 
original  has  the  graces  of  early  art ;  the  pathos,  the  simplicity 
of  the  early  French  prose  at  its  best,  and  always  that  haunting 
elegiac  tone  or  undertone  which  never  fails  in  romance  or 
homily  to  bring  its  sad  suggestions  of  the  vanity  and  transience 
of  all  things,  of  the  passing  away  of  pomp  and  splendour,  of  the 
falls  of  princes.  In  Malory,  while  this  tone  is  kept,  there  is  a 
more  decided  and  more  artistic  command  of  rhythm  than  in 
the  Lancelot  or  the  Tristan.  They  are  even  throughout,  one 
page  very  much  like  another  in  general  character  :  Malory  has 
splendid  passages  to  which  he  rises,  and  from  which  he  falls 
back  into  the  even  tenour  of  his  discourse.  In  the  less  distin- 
guished parts  of  his  book,  besides,  there  cannot  fail  to  be  noted  a 
more  careful  choice  of  words  and  testing  of  sounds  than  in  the 
uncalculating  spontaneous  eloquence  of  his  original. 

Malory  has  been  compared  to  Herodotus,  and  in  this  the 
resemblance  may  be  made  out  ;  while,  in  both  authors,  the  ground- 
work of  their  style  is  the  natural  simple  story-teller's  loose  fabric 
of  easy-going  clauses,  in  both  there  is  a  further  process  of 
rhetoric  embroidering  the  plain  stuff.  Neither  Herodotus  nor 
Malory  can  be  taken  for  the  earliest  sort  of  prose  artist.  Both 
of  them  are  already  some  way  from  the  beginning  of  their  art, 
and  though  in  both  of  them  the  primitive  rhetoric  may  be  found 
by  analysis,  they  are  not  novices.  Though  they  have  preserved 
many  of  the  beauties  of  the  uncritical  childhood  of  literature, 
they  are  both  of  them  sophisticated  ;  it  is  their  craft,  or  their 
good  genius,  that  makes  one  overlook  the  critical  and  testing 
processes,  the  conscious  rhetoric,  without  which  they  could  not 
have  written  as  they  did.  Malory's  prose,  and  not  Chaucer's,  is 
the  prose  analogue  of  Chaucer's  poetry  ;  summing  up  as  it  does 
some  of  the  great  attainments  of  the  earlier  Middle  Ages,  and  pre- 
senting them  in  colours  more  brilliant,  with  a  more  conscious  style, 
than  they  had  possessed  in  their  first  rendering.  The  superiority 
of  Chaucer's  Troilus  over  the  early  version  of  the  Norman  troiivere 
is  derived  through  Boccaccio  from  a  school  that  had  begun 
to  be  critical  and  reflective.      Malory,  in  a  similar  way,  rewrites 


INTRODUCTION  15 


his  "  French  book  "  with  an  ear  for  new  varieties  of  cadence,  and 
makes  the  book  his  own,  in  virtue  of  this  art  of  his.  Much  of 
the  "  French  book  "  has  the  common  fault  of  medieval  literature, 
the  want  of  personal  character  in  the  style  ;  like  so  many  medieval 
books,  it  is  thought  of  as  belonging  to  a  class  rather  than  a 
personal  author,  as  if  it  were  one  of  many  similar  things  turned  out 
by  a  company  with  common  trade  methods.  This  is  the  case  with 
some,  not  with  the  whole,  of  Malory's  original ;  it  is  not  the  case 
with  Malory.  He  is  an  author  and  an  artist,  and  his  style  is  his 
own. 

Malory,  in  much  the  same  way  as  Chaucer,  is  one  of  the 
moderns.  He  is  not  antiquated ;  he  is  old  fashioned,  perhaps 
— a  different  thing,  for  so  are  Bacon  and  Jeremy  Taylor  old 
fashioned,  and  Addison,  and  Fielding.  The  modern  and  in- 
telligible and  generally  acceptable  nature  of  Malory's  book  may 
serve  to  prove,  if  that  were  necessary,  how  very  far  from  true 
or  adequate  is  the  belief  that  the  beginning  of  the  modern  world 
was  a  revojt  against  the  Middle  Ages.  The  progress  out  of 
the  Middle  Ages  had  its  revolutionary  aspects,  as  when  Duns 
Scotus  was  torn  up  in  the  New  College  quadrangle,  and  Floris- 
marte  of  Hyrcania  delivered  to  the  secular  arm  in  Don  Quixote's 
backyard.  But  in  literature,  as  a  general  rule,  progress  was  made 
in  a  direct  and  continuous  line,  by  taking  up  what  was  old  and 
carrying  it  on.  This  at  least  was  the  method  of  Ariosto  and 
Spenser,  of  Shakespeare  and  Cervantes,  and  their  predecessors 
in  this  were  Chaucer  and  Malory.  It  is  impossible  to  draw  any 
dividing  line.  There  was  no  Protestant  schism  in  literature. 
One  cannot  separate  the  Morte  H Arthur  from  the  old  romances 
on  the  one  hand,  nor  from  the  Elizabethans  on  the  other.  Malory 
is  succeeded  by  Lord  Berners  with  his  Froissart  and  his  Huon 
of  Bordeaux,  and  Lord  Berners  is  a  link  with  Thomas  North, 
Euphues,  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Innumerable  classical  and 
foreign  influences  went  to  make  the  new  world,  but  among  them 
all  the  old  currents  from  the  old  well-springs  kept  on  flowing. 

If  any  apology  is  needed  for  concerning  on|self  with  the  older 
English  literature  it  must  be  this,  that  the  older  literature  has 
never  been  cut  off  by  any  partition  wall  from  the  newer.  Even 
the  writers  least  in  sympathy  with  Goths  and  monks  and  super- 
stitions had  at  one  time  or  other  made  excursions  into  the 
enchanted  ground.  One  finds  evidence  enough  of  the  favour 
shown  to  old  books  and  old  styles  of  literature  in  days  when  there 


1 6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


was  no  want  of  brilliant  new  books.  The  Countess  of  Pembroke's 
Arcadia  kept  its  place  in  rooms  to  which  the  Spectator  found 
his  way,  and  Dr.  Johnson  himself  (who  accomplished  the  ad- 
venture of  the  Loingtai7ies  Isles)  could  be  heartily  interested  in 
Amadis  or  Palmerin.  Perhaps  the  historians  of  literature  have 
paid  too  little  attention  to  the  effect  on  the  upper  literary  currents 
of  this  underflow  of  popular  romance.  At  any  rate  this  popular 
appreciation  of  old  books  will  explain  in  part  the  success  which 
attended  the  labours  of  Gray,  Warton,  and  Percy,  and  go  far 
to  prove  that  the  taste  for  medieval  scholarship  is  not  an  imported 
fashion,  and  not  anything  to  be  ashamed  of  Scholars  like  Gray, 
Warton,  and  Percy,  like  Scott  and  Ellis,  had  not  to  create  the 
taste,  for  every  one  who  read  at  all  had  passed  through  the  stage 
of  the  Seven  Champions  and  the  Seven  Wise  Masters  ;  all  they 
had  to  do  was  to  clear  up  people's  views  of  the  importance  of 
such  like  childish  books,  and  display  more  and  more  fully  the 
rich  world  to  which  they  properly  belonged,  and  from  which  they 
had  come  down.  If  any  one  objects  now  to  the  very  early 
beginning  of  English  literature,  he  may  lay  the  blame  on  the 
nature  of  things  ;  for  it  is  no  capricious  choice,  no  antiquarian 
perversity,  that  prevents  these  selections  from  beginning  com- 
fortably with  the  Elizabethans. 

There  are  good  enough  reasons,  too,  for  not  giving  any  pieces 
out  of  older  authors  than  Chaucer.  They  are  not  reasons  which 
affect  the  history  of  prose,  or  of  English  literature  generally  ; 
for  the  literature  does  not  begin,  any  more  than  the  constitution, 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  It  is  convenient  to  begin  where  the 
language  has  come  nto  something  like  its  modern  form,  so  as  to 
get  rid  of  the  need  for  any  large  apparatus  of  glossary  or  notes. 
But  the  pedigree  of  English  prose  goes  back  beyond  Wyclifife 
and  Chaucer.  It  is  not  quite  as  long  as  that  of  the  royal  family 
of  England  ;  it  stops  short  of  Noah  and  Woden  and  Cerdic  ; 
but  at  any  rate  it  goes  back  to  yElfred  yEthelwulfing.  That 
great  king  has  been  frequently  threatened  with  ostracism,  yet 
neither  the  political  nor  the  literary  history  can  do  without 
him,  and  the  literary  like  the  political  history  of  England  is 
continuous. 

In  a  book  like  this,  which  might  be  compared  to  a  sculptured 
procession  in  bas-relief  of  orators  and  sages,  one  is  forced  to  take 
a  historical  view,  to  consider  the  writers  in  their  g'eneral  relations 
to  one  another  and  to  the  whole  of  English  history.      Elsewhere 


INTRODUCTION 


and  at  other  times  they  may  be  studied  more  minutely,  each  for 
his  own  individual  sake.  There  are  many  dangers  attendant  on 
both  kinds  of  criticism,  and  the  critic  who  deals  in  generalities 
has  not  always  the  easiest  time  of  it.  These  volumes,  and  their 
companion  selections  from  the  poets,  ought  to  clear  away  some  of 
the  difficulties.  The  characters  of  the  several  authors,  and  of  the 
schools  or  fashions  of  thinking  and  phrasing  to  which  they  belong, 
are  here  set  out  in  such  a  way  that  they  illustrate  one  another, 
and  represent,  page  after  page,  the  changing  moods  of  the  national 
life.  These  books  do  the  historian's  work  for  him  better  than  he 
can  do  it  himself  There  are  sceptics  and  nominalists  who  say 
that  it  is  an  abstract  futility  to  talk  of  the  "progress  of  poesy," 
or  the  history  of  English  thought  ;  that  the  real  existences  are 
not  poesy,  or  thought,  but  poets  and  thinkers  ;  that  the  historian, 
when  he  tries  to  be  philosophical  and  bring  in  his  cunning 
apparatus,  his  "  evolution "  and  his  "  environment,"  is  merely 
setting  his  petards  to  an  open  door.  If  those  sceptics  are  wrong 
and  to  be  confuted,  they  will  be  confuted,  not  by  argument 
from  the  philosophical  historian  (to  which  they  will  not  listen), 
but  by  the  gradual  and  tentative  creation,  in  the  minds  of  readers, 
of  a  picture  of  literary  succession,  such  a  picture  as  is  sketched 
out  in  these  volumes,  where  one  author  is  set  off  against  his  fellow, 
and  where  groups  of  authors  compare  themselves  with  other 
groups. 

It  is  not  perhaps  of  much  importance  to  have  a  theory  of 
literary  history  stated  in  fine  terms,  but  it  is  a  poor  thing  to  lose 
appreciation  of  the  different  tracts  and  levels  over  which  litera- 
ture has  passed,  to  be  without  the  perspective  of  literature. 

It  is  in  the  earlier  periods  especially  that  a  truer  perspective 
is  wanted.  The  earlier  stages  have  been  left  too  much  to  them- 
selves and  to  the  specialists,  with  the  natural  result  that  the 
value  of  the  later  stages  has  been  wrongly  judged,  most  of  all  in 
the  case  of  Tudor  literature,  bordering  as  it  does  immediately 
on  the  terra  incognita.  The  revolutions  and  innovations,  the 
glory  and  the  rapture  and  the  daring  of  the  Elizabethans,  these 
things  have  been  recognised  ;  not  so  fully  their  indebtedness  to 
the  poetry,  the  rhetoric,  the  literary  skill  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
Elizabethans  are  praised. at  the  expense  of  older  writers:  they 
were  not  the  first  to  whom  beauty  seemed  beautiful  ;  the  humani- 
ties were  not  brought  into  the  island  of  Britain  first  of  all  in  the 
Tudor  times,  nor  are  the  humanities  e.xclusively  Greek  or  Italian. 

VOL.   I  C 


i8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


The  Elizabethans  lose  nothing,  but  gain,  on  the  contrary,  by 
rendering  their  due  to  their  ancestors  ;  to  the  older  practical 
writers  who  kept  their  senses  unclouded  by  mists  of  allegory  or 
superstition,  and  described  the  real  world  clearly  ;  to  the  vision- 
aries who  went  before  Sidney  or  Spenser. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


SIR  JOHN    MANDEVILLE 


[It  has  been  doubted,  and  not  without  reason,  whether  there  ever  was  such 
a  person  as  Sir  John  Mandeville  or  Maundeville,  who  gives  himself  out  as  the 
author  of  an  exceedingly  popular  and  interesting  book  of  travels.  This  book 
appeared  (probably  in  French  originally,  then  in  Latin  and  English)  towards 
the  end  of  the  third  quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century.  It  has  been  with  still 
more  reason  doubted  whether  the  book  itself,  even  supposing  that  there  was  a 
Sir  John  Mandeville  and  that  he  was  its  author,  is  anything  more  than  an 
ingenious  patchwork  constructed  out  of  the  writings  of  Marco  Polo,  of  Friar 
Odoric,  of  Hayton  the  .Armenian,  and  of  others.  Indeed,  the  passages  borrowed 
have  been  identified  with  great  precision.  Neither  of  these  points  can  be 
argued  out  here,  though  the  opinion  of  the  present  writer,  if  it  is  of  any  import- 
ance, is  decidedly  against  both  the  existence  and  the  experience  of  Sir  John. 
Almost  all  that  is  known  on  the  subject  will  be  found  summarised  in  an 
article  by  Mr.  E.  B.  Nicholson,  and  the  late  Colonel  Yule,  in  the  ninth  edition  of 
\ht  EncyclopcEdia  Britannica.  Mr.  Nicholson's  final  conclusion,  since  strength- 
ened by  fresh  discoveries,  is  that  a  certain  physician  of  Liege  assumed  the  name 
of  Mandeville  and  wrote  the  book.  Here  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  writer 
of  the  book  asserts  himself  to  have  been  a  native  of  St.  Albans,  and  to  have 
spent  about  forty  years  (from  1322  onwards)  in  the  service  of  the  Sultan  and 
Great  Chan  (Emperor  of  China),  and  in  travelling  about  the  greater  part  of 
Asia  and  a  smaller  part  of  Africa.  Later  writers  add  that  he  died  at  Liege, 
and  give  particulars  of  a  monument  there  to  him.  Unluckily  they  also  specify 
its  armorial  bearings,  which  are  not  those  of  any  known  family  of  Mandeville. 
No  contemporary  or  nearly  contemporary  authority  says  anything  about  him. 
But  the  book  which  goes  by  his  name  was  enormously  popular,  and  a  vast 
number  of  MSS.  exist  of  it  in  different  languages.  It  was  first  printed  in 
English  by  Pynson,  but  the  standard  edition,  which  requires  re-editing,  is  that 
of  1727,  reprinted  with  a  few  notes  and  an  introduction  by  the  late  Mr.  J.  O. 
Halliwell  (-Phillipps)  in  1839,  1866,  and  1883.  There  is  also  an  edition 
of  one  MS.  printed  for  the  Roxburghe  Club.] 

The  perplexities  which  concern  the  authorship  of  the  book 
passing  under  the  naine  of  Mandeville,  and  the  personality  of 
Mandeville  himself,  do  not  at  all  affect  the  literary  interest  and 
value  of  that  book.  Whether  it  be  an  authentic  record  of  the 
experiences,  imaginations,  and  credulities  of  an  actual  traveller, 
or  a  clever  literary   imposture  executed  at  a   time  when   profes- 

19 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


sional  men  of  letters  were  already  pretty  numerous,  it  is  certainly 
one  of  the  first  examples  of  a  book  of  general  literature,  written  in 
prose  which  is  indisputably  English  in  the  full  modern  sense. 
That  it  was  originally  written  in  F~rench,  which  had  not  yet  ceased 
to  be,  as  it  was  to  Brunetto  Latini  a  century  earlier,  the  common 
dialect  of  Europe  for  the  lighter  purposes  of  literature,  was  sus- 
pected long  ago,  and  may  be  said  to  have  been  established  by 
Mr.  Nicholson.  And  there  can  be  hardly  more  doubt  that  trans- 
lation into  English  was  speedy  if  not  immediate.  If  it  was  really 
a  literary  hoax,  then,  no  doubt,  the  hoaxer  shot  his  bolt  almost 
simultaneously  at  three  different  sets  of  game,  by  issuing  it  in 
French  and  Latin  and  English.  It  is  a  very  unlucky  thing  that 
the  one  common  edition  in  which  it  is  accessible  to  English 
readers,  that  of  Bohn's  Library,  is  manipulated  after  a  fashion 
which  would  be  surprising  from  any  one,  but  which  is  doubly 
surprising  from  so  good  a  scholar  and  so  sound  a  medievalist 
as  the  late  Thomas  Wright.  But  even  in  that  version  the  charm 
of  the  book — that  singular  charm  which  distinguishes  medieval 
work,  and  is  alike  absent  from  classical.  Oriental,  and  modern 
literature — must  be  apparent.  This  is  the  charm  of  the  romantic- 
marvellous.  Sometimes,  of  course,  the  good  Sir  John  indulges  in 
marvels  which  are  very  marvellous,  which  are  not  at  all  romantic, 
and  which  have  not  quite  unjustly  earned  him  the  reputation 
of  being  a  descendant  of  Lucian  or  Lucian's  originals  and  an 
ancestor  of  Baron  Munchausen.  To  this  day  it  is  difficult  to 
imagine  what  made  him  say  gravely,  that  he  had  often  tried  the 
experiment  of  keeping  diamonds  wetted  with  May  dew,  and  had 
found  them  increase  in  size.  Yet  it  requires  no  great  critical 
expertness  to  see  that  this  unhesitating  precision  of  statement 
lends  much  of  their  charm  to  such  stories  as  those  of  the  Castle 
of  the  Sparrowhawk  and  the  Lady  of  the  Land.  It  is  more  diffi- 
cult to  explain  the  difference  between  this  precision  and  the 
often  excessive  and  sometimes  disgusting  minuteness  of  Oriental 
wonder-tales. 

If,  however,  Mandeville  is  interesting  when  modernised,  he  is 
far  more  interesting  in  the  1727  text,  though  it  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  the  spelling  of  this  represents  the  oldest  MS.  authority, 
and  it  is  certain  that  it  is  not  in  the  modern  sense  critical.  This 
text  is,  in  point  of  orthography  and  vocabulary,  rather  more  modern 
than  the  received  text  of  Chaucer,  and  presents  a  minimum  of  diffi- 
culty to  any  educated  person.      Its  style,  as  is  often  the  case  with 


Sf/a  JOHN  MANDE  VII.I.E 


examples  of  that  period  of  a  language  which  coincides  with  the 
current  literary  use  of  other  languages,  is  simple,  clear,  and  by  no 
means  awkward  or  inelegant.  The  sentences  are  of  moderate 
length,  and  the  clauses  are  connected  and  arranged  with  an  order- 
liness evidently  dictated  by  practice  in  Latin  composition.  Nor 
is  there  lacking  a  certain  effort  at  cadence  and  harmony  :  indeed 
there  is  more  of  this  than  in  the  commoner  examples  of  prose  even 
two  centuries  later.  But  the  real  charm  of  the  book  lies  in  a 
combination  of  simplicity  and  colour  which  is  eminently  picturesque. 
In  this  it  has  no  equal,  the  best  passages  of  Malory  excepted, 
among  English  prose  books  before  the  Renaissance,  and  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  its  wide  diffusion  Jiad  a  great  influence  in 
the  romantic  direction  on  the  minds  of  its  readers.  The  some- 
what idle  and  disputable  title  of  Father  of  English  Prose  has 
been  taken  from  Mandeville  of  late  and  given  to  Wycliffe.  But 
Mandeville,  or  the  person  who  took  his  name,  is  certainly,  as  his 
date,  his  subject,  and  his  great  popularity  show,  the  father  of  all 
such  as  use  modern  English  prose  for  purposes  of  profane  delight, 
and  his  book  is  as  full  of  that  delight  now  as  when  it  was  first 
written. 

G.  Saintsbury. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAND 

And  some  men  say  that  in  the  Isle  of  Lango  is  yet  the  daughter 
of  Hippocrates,  in  form  and  Hkeness  of  a  great  dragon,  that  is  a 
hundred  fathom  of  length,  as  men  say  :  for  I  have  not  seen  her. 
And  they  of  the  Isles  call  her.  Lady  of  the  Land.  And  she  lieth 
in  an  old  castle,  in  a  cave,  and  sheweth  twice  or  thrice  in  the  year. 
And  she  doth  no  harm  to  no  man,  but  if  men  do  her  harm.  And 
she  was  thus  changed  and  transformed,  from  a  fair  damsel,'  into 
likeness  of  a  dragon,  by  a  goddess,  that  was  cleped  Diana.  And 
men  say,  that  she  shall  so  endure  in  that  form  of  a  dragon,  unto 
the  time  that  a  knight  come,  that  is  so  hardy,  that  dare  come  to 
her  and  kiss  her  on  the  mouth  :  and  then  shall  she  turn  again  to 
her  own  kind,  and  be  a  woman  again.  But  after  that  she  shall 
not  live  long.  And  it  is  not  long  since,  that  a  knight  of  the 
Rhodes,  that  was  hardy  and  doughty  in  arms,  said  that  he  would 
kiss  her.  And  when  he  was  upon  his  courser,  and  went  to  the 
castle,  and  entered  into  the  cave,  the  dragon  lift  up  her  head 
against  him.  And  when  the  knight  saw  her  in  that  form  so 
hideous  and  so  horrible,  he  fled  away.  And  the  dragon  bare  the 
knight  upon  a  rock,  maugre  his  head  ;  and  from  that  rock  she 
cast  him  into  the  sea  :  and  so  was  lost  both  horse  and  man.  And 
also  a  young  man,  that  wist  not  of  the  dragon,  went  out  of  a  ship, 
and  went  through  the  Isle,  till  that  he  came  to  the  castle,  and 
came  in  to  the  cave,  and  went  so  long  till  that  he  found  a  chamber, 
and  there  he  saw  a  damsel  that  combed  her  head,  and  looked  in 
a  mirror  ;  and  she  had  much  treasure  about  her,  and  he  trowed, 
that  she  had  been  a  common  woman,  that  dwelled  there  to  receive 
men  to  folly.  And  he  abode,  till  the  damsel  saw  the  shadow  of 
him  in  the  mirror.  And  she  turned  her  toward  him,  and  asked 
him,  what  he  would.  And  he  said,  he  would  be  her  leman  or 
paramour.  And  she  asked  him  if  that  he  were  a  knight.  And 
he  said,  nay.  And  then  she  said  that  he  might  not  be  her  leman  : 
but  she  bade  him  go  again  unto  his  fellows,  and  make  him  knight, 

22 


STR  JOHN  MANDEVILLE  23 


and  come  again  upon  the  morrow,  and  she  should  come  out  of  the 
cave  before  him,  and  then  come  and  kiss  her  on  the  mouth,  and 
have  no  dread  ;  "  for  I  shall  do  thee  no  manner  of  harm,  albeit 
that  thou  see  me  in  likeness  of  a  dragon.  For  though  thou  see 
me  hideous  and  horrible  to  look  on,  I  do  thee  to  witness,  that  it 
is  made  by  enchantment.  For  without  doubt,  I  am  none  other 
than  thou  seest  now,  a  woman  ;  and  therefore  dread  thee  nought. 
And  if  thou  kiss  me,  thou  shalt  have  all  this  treasure,  and  be  my 
lord,  and  lord  also  of  all  that  isle."  And  he  departed  from  her  and 
went  to  his  fellows  to  ship,  and  let  make  him  knight,  and  came 
again  upon  the  morrow,  for  to  kiss  this  damsel.  And  when  he 
saw  her  come  out  of  the  cave,  in  form  of  a  dragon,  so  hideous  and 
so  horrible,  he  had  so  great  dread,  that  he  fled  again  to  the  ship  ; 
and  she  followed  him.  And  when  she  saw  that  he  turned  not 
again,  she  began  to  cry,  as  a  thing  that  had  much  sorrow  :  and 
then  she  turned  again,  into  her  cave  ;  and  anon  the  knight  died. 
And  since  then,  hitherwards,  might  no  knight  see  her,  but  that  he 
died  anon.  But  when  a  knight  cometh,  that  is  so  hardy  to  kiss 
her,  he  shall  not  die  ;  but  he  shall  turn  the  damsel  into  her  right 
form  and  kindly  shape,  and  he  shall  be  lord  of  all  the  countries 
and  isles  abovesaid. 


OF  THE  QUALITIES  OF  THE  RIGHT  BALM 

And  wyte  ye  well  that,  that  a  man  ought  to  take  good  kepe  for  to 
buy  balm,  but  if  he  can  know  it  right  well  :  for  he  may  right 
lightly  be  deceived.  For  men  sell  a  gum,  that  men  clepen 
turpentine,  instead  of  balm  :  and  they  put  thereto  a  little  balm 
for  to  give  good  odour.  And  some  put  wax  in  oil  of  the  wood  of 
the  fruit  of  balm,  and  say  that  it  is  balm  :  and  some  distil  cloves 
of  gillyflower  and  of  spikenard  of  Spain  and  of  other  spices,  that 
be  well  smelling  ;  and  the  liquor  that  goeth  out  thereof  they  clepe 
it  balm  :  and  they  wean  that  they  have  balm  ;  and  they  have 
none.  For  the  Saracens  counterfeit  it  by  subtilty  of  craft,  for  to 
deceive  the  Christian  men,  as  I  have  see  full  many  a  time.  And 
after  them,  the  merchants  and  the  apothecaries  counterfeit  it 
eftsoons,  and  then  it  is  less  worth,  and  a  great  deal  worse.  But 
if  it  like  you,  I  shall  show,  how  ye  shall  know  and  prove,  to  the 
end  that  ye  shall  not  be  deceived.     First  ye  shall  well  know,  that 


24  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  natural  balm  is  full  clear,  and  of  citron  colour,  and  strong 
smelling.  And  if  it  be  thick,  or  red  or  black,  it  is  sophisticate, 
that  is  to  say  counterfeited  and  made  like  it,  for  deceit. 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  SPARROWHAWK 

And  from  thence,  men  go  through  little  Ermonye.  And  in  that 
country  is  an  old  castle,  that  stands  upon  a  rock,  the  which  is 
cleped  the  Castle  of  the  Sparrowhawk,  that  is  beyond  the  city  of 
Layays,  beside  the  town  of  Pharsipee,  that  belongeth  to  the  lord- 
ship of  Cruk  ;  that  is  a  rich  lord  and  a  good  Christian  man  ; 
where  men  find  a  sparrowhawk  upon  a  perch  right  fair,  and  right 
well  made  ;  and  a  fair  Lady  of  Fayrye,  that  keepeth  it.  And  who 
that  will  wake  that  Sparrowhawk,  7  days  and  7  nights,  and  as 
some  men  say,  3  days  and  3  nights,  without  company  and  without 
sleep,  that  fair  lady  shall  give  him,  when  he  hath  done,  the  fitst 
wish,  that  he  will  wish,  of  earthly  things  :  and  that  hath  been 
proved  often  times.  And  o  time  befel,  that  a  king  of  Ermonye, 
that  was  a  worthy  knight  and  a  doughty  man  and  a  noble  prince, 
woke  that  hawk  some  time  ;  and  at  the  end  of  7  days  and  7  nights, 
the  lady  came  to  him  and  bade  him  wish  ;  for  he  had  well  deserved 
it.  And  he  answered  that  he  was  great  lord  the  now,  and  well 
in  peace,  and  had  enough  of  worldly  riches  ;  and  therefore  he 
would  wish  none  other  thing,  but  the  body  of  that  fair  lady,  to 
have  it  at  his  will.  And  she  answered  him,  that  he  knew  not 
what  he  asked  ;  and  said,  that  he  was  a  fool,  to  desire  that  he 
might  not  have  :  for  she  said,  that  he  should  not  ask,  but  earthly 
thing  :  for  she  was  no  earthly  thing,  but  a  ghostly  thing.  And  the 
king  said,  that  he  would  ask  none  other  thing.  And  the  lady 
answered,  "  Sith  that  I  may  not  withdraw  you  from  your  lewd 
courage,  I  shall  give  you  without  wishing,  and  to  all  them  that 
shall  come  of  you.  Sire  King,  ye  shall  have  war  without  peace, 
and  always  to  the  9  degree,  ye  shall  be  in  subjection  of  your 
enemies  ;  and  ye  shall  be  needy  of  all  goods."  And  never  since, 
neither  the  King  of  Ermonye,  nor  the  country,  were  never  in 
peace,  nor  they  had  never  since  plenty  of  goods  ;  and  they  have 
been  since  always  under  tribute  of  the  Saracens.  Also  the  son  of 
a  poor  man  woke  that  hawk,  and  wished  that  he  might  cheve 
well,  and   to  be  happy  to  merchandise.      And   the  lady  granted 


SIR  JOHN  MANDE  VILLE  2 5 

him.  And  he  became  the  most  rich  and  the  most  famous 
merchant,  that  might  be  on  sea  or  on  earth.  And  he  became 
so  rich,  that  he  knew  not  the  1000  part  of  that  he  had  :  and  he 
was  wiser,  in  wishing,  than  was  the  king.  Also  a  Knight  of  the 
Temple  woke  there  ;  and  wished  a  purse  ever  more  full  of  gold  ; 
and  the  lady  granted  him.  But  she  said  him,  that  he  had  asked 
the  destruction  of  their  Order  ;  for  the  trust  and  the  affiance  of 
that  purse,  and  for  the  great  pride,  that  they  should  have  :  and  so 
it  was.  And  therefore  look  he  kepe  him  well,  that  shall  wake  : 
for  if  he  sleep,  he  is  lost,  that  never  man  shall  see  him  more. 
This  is  not  the  right  way  for  to  go  to  the  parts,  that  I  have  named 
before  ;  but  for  to  see  the  marv'el,  that  I  have  spoken  of. 


THE   STATE   OF   PRESTER  JOHN 

This  Emperor  Prester  John,  when  he  goeth  in  to  battle,  against 
any  other  lord,  he  hath  no  banners  borne  before  him :  but  he  hath 
three  crosses  of  gold,  fine,  great  and  high,  full  of  precious  stones  : 
and  every  of  the  crosses  be  set  in  a  chariot,  full  richly  arrayed. 
And  for  to  keep  every  cross,  be  ordained  10,000  men  of  arms,  and 
more  than  100,000  men  on  foot,  in  manner  as  men  would  keep  a 
standard  in  our  countries,  when  that  we  be  in  land  of  war.  And 
this  number  of  folk  is  without  the  principal  host,  and  without 
wings  ordained  for  the  battle.  And  when  he  hath  no  war,  but 
rideth  with  a  privy  retinue,  then  he  hath  borne  before  him  but  a 
cross  of  tree,  without  peinture,  and  without  gold  or  silver  or 
precious  stones  ;  in  remembrance,  that  Jesu  Christ  suffered  death 
upon  a  cross  of  tree.  And  he  hath  borne  before  him  also  a  platter 
of  gold  full  of  earth,  in  token  that  his  noblesse  and  his  might  and 
his  flesh  shall  turn  to  earth.  And  he  hath  borne  before  him  also 
a  vessel  of  silver,  full  of  noble  jewels  of  gold  full  rich,  and  of 
precious  stones,  in  token  of  his  lordship  and  of  his  noblesse  and 
of  his  might.  He  dwelleth  commonly  in  the  city  of  Sus-a  ;  and 
there  is  his  principal  palace,  that  is  so  rich  and  so  noble,  that  no 
man  will  trow  it  by  estimation,  but  he  had  seen  it.  And  above 
the  chief  tower  of  the  palace,  be  two  round  pommels  of  gold  ;  and 
in  every  of  them  be  two  carbuncles  great  and  large,  that  shine  full 
bright  upon  the  night.  And  the  principal  gates  of  his  palace  be 
of  precious  stone,  that  men  call  sardoin  :  and  the  bordure  and  the 


26  ENGLISH  PROSE 


bars  be  of  ivory  :  and  the  windows  of  the  halls  and  chambers  be 
of  crystal :  and  the  tables  whereon  men  eat,  some  be  of  emerald, 
some  of  amethyst  and  some  of  gold,  full  of  precious  stones  ;  and 
the  pillars,  that  bear  up  the  tables,  be  of  the  same  precious  stones. 
And  the  degrees  to  go  up  to  his  throne,  where  he  sitteth  at  the 
meat,  one  is  of  onyx,  another  is  of  crystal,  and  another  of  jaspar 
green,  another  of  amethyst,  another  of  sardoin,  another  of  cornelian, 
and  the  seventh  that  he  setteth  oh  his  feet,  is  of  chrysolite.  And 
all  these  degrees  be  bordured  with  fine  gold,  with  the  tother 
precious  stones,  set  with  great  pearls  orient.  And  the  sides  of  the 
seat  of  his  throne  be  of  emeralds,  and  bordured  with  gold  full 
nobly,  and  dubbed  with  other  precious  stones  and  great  pearls. 
And  all  the  pillars  in  his  chamber,  be  of  fine  gold  with  precious 
stones,  and  with  many  carbuncles,  that  give  great  light  upon  the 
night  to  all  people.  And  albeit  that  the  carbuncle  give  light 
enough,  natheless  at  all  times  burneth  a  vessel  of  crystal  full  of 
balm,  for  to  give  good  smell  and  odour  to  the  Emperor,  and  to 
void  away  all  wicked  airs  and  corruptions. 


JOHN   WYCLIFFE 

1324— 1384 

[John  Wycliffe,  the  year  of  whose  birth  is  conjecturally  fixed  as  1324,  was 
born  at  Spresswell,  which  has  been  identified  as  a  hamlet  near  the  town  of  Old 
Richmond,  in  the  North  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  but  has  now  disappeared. 
His  religious  attitude  was  largely  affected  by  the  course  of  events  in  the  pre- 
ceding generation.  The  power  of  the  Papacy  in  England  had  reached  its 
highest  point  in  the  reign  of  John,  who  was  content  to  hold  his  kingdom  as 
the  vassal  of  the  Pope.  But  the  Papal  encroachments  soon  provoked  resist- 
ance. This  resistance  first  appeared  under  the  leadership  of  one  so  entirely 
different  in  doctrinal  position  from  Wycliffe  as  Grosstete,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln, 
who  had  united  to  the  most  strict  orthodo.xy  of  doctrine,  an  attitude  of  firm 
independence  towards  Papal  domination,  when  pushed  to  the  disadvantage  of 
the  Church.  Grosstete  died  in  1253  ;  and  the  latter  part  of  that  century  saw 
the  resistance  to  the  Papacy  increased  by  a  movement  based  on  political  and 
constitutional  grounds.  This,  again,  had  deepened  during  the  fourteenth 
century  into  a  general  discontent  at  the  corruptions  both  of  the  Papacy  and 
the  Church  generally  ;  and  the  feeling  which  thus  prevailed  is  seen  in  the 
poem  of  The  Vision  of  Piers  Plowman,  which  belongs  to  Wycliffe's  own  age. 

The  first  English  reformer  was  educated  at  Oxford,  where  he  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  life,  and  where  he  appears  to  have  held  office  at  Merton 
College,  and  to  have  been,  for  a  time.  Master  of  Balliol  College.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  say  how  far  his  influence  extended  during  the  earlier  part  of  his  life  ; 
but  the  most  conspicuous  instances  of  his  intervention  in  public  affairs,  as  well 
as  the  greater  part  of  his  writings,  appear  to  belong  to  the  few  years  before 
his  death.  In  1366  he  came  forward  as  an  opponent  of  Papal  claims,  and  in 
1374  he  went  with  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  on  an  embassy  to 
Bruges,  where  these  claims  were  under  discussion.  He  seems  to  have  acted 
as  the  close  ally  of  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  during  the  very  obscure  and  tangled 
struggles  of  the  Parliament  of  1376,  in  which  the  influence  of  the  Prelacy  was 
ranged  against  the  party  of  the  Duke.  By  this  time  Wycliffe's  attitude  as  a 
religious  reformer  had  become  more  clearly  defined,  and  he  was  summoned  to 
appear  before  some  of  the  bishops  to  answer  for  his  heresies.  By  the  help  of 
the  Duke  of  Lancaster  he  was  able  to  withstand  the  attempt  to  silence  him, 
but  his  opponents  afterwards  obtained  his  condemnation  by  a  bull  of  the 
Pope.  Even  this,  however,  failed  to  crush  him,  as  he  found  strenuous 
adherents  at  Oxford,  and  seems  by  this  time  (1378)  to  have  had  a  consider- 
able  following  in  the  country.      In   the  later  years  of  his  life    his  doctrinal 

27 


28  ENGLISH  PROSE 


divergencies  from  the  orthodox  creed  seem  to  have  attracted  more  attention 
if  they  did  not  indeed  become  more  pronounced.  The  outbreak  of  the  Social 
Revolt  under  Ball  was  asserted  by  Wycliffe's  enemies  to  have  been  fostered  by 
the  itinerant  preachers  whom  he  had  trained  as  a  counterpoise  to  the  more 
regular  priesthood.  But  the  efforts  of  his  opponents,  from  whatever  cause, 
failed  to  make  him  the  object  of  any  violent  persecution  ;  and,  although  after 
his  death,  Wycliffe's  name  was  recalled  as  that  of  one  of  the  most  pronounced 
heretics  and  maligners  of  the  Church,  he  died  quietly  in  1384  as  rector  of 
Lutterworth  in  Leicestershire.] 


The  incidents  of  Wycliffe's  life  are  interesting  to  us  here,  only 
as  they  serve  to  illustrate  the  position  of  his  writings  in  English 
literature.  Trained  at  Oxford,  in  the  usual  scholastic  learning,  he 
had  considerable  scholarship,  had  studied  natural  science,  and 
in  his  Latin  writings  (which  form  the  larger  part  of  his  works)  he 
commonly  employs  the  technical  terms  of  the  scholastic  philosophy. 
We  see  the  influence  of  this,  the  more  professional  side  of  his 
intellect,  operating  to  some  extent  also  in  his  English  works. 

As  a  writer  of  English  prose,  he  came  at  a  critical  time.  The 
older  English  was  giving  way  to  something  which,  when  we  strip 
off  peculiarities  of  spelling  and  of  verbal  forms,  approaches  very 
nearly  to  our  modern  language.  Comparing  Wycliffe's  style  with 
that  of  the  book  of  travels  to  which  the  name  of  Mandeville  is 
attached,  we  see  at  once  that  his  English  is  that  of  a  scholar  who 
has  lost  much  of  what  may  be  called  the  childishness  of  archaicism, 
and  who  is  ready  to  enrich  his  language  with  words  borrowed 
freely  either  from  a  French  or  a  classical  source.  We  recognise 
that  we  are  in  the  hands  of  one  who,  though  he  has  nothing  that 
could  fairly  be  called  a  formed  style,  yet  uses  the  direct  and 
forcible  English  of  a  master,  and  whose  example  could  not  fail  to 
influence  the  future  of  English  prose. 

In  this  connection  Wycliffe's  position  as  a  religious  teacher  is 
of  marked  importance.  The  share  which  he  took  in  the  contro- 
versies of  the  day  ;  his  efforts  to  place  the  salient  points  of  these 
controversies  clearly  before  a  popular  audience  ;  his  occasional 
use  of  philosophical  argument  ;  his  introduction  of  strokes  of 
satire  against  those  whom  he  attacked — all  these  gave  directness, 
force,  and  precision  to  his  style.  But  his  influence  upon  English 
prose  was,  above  all,  based  upon  the  part  he  took  in  providing 
a  translation  of  the  Scriptures  in  the  vernacular.  There  had 
already  been  translations  into  Anglo-.Saxon,  and  detached  parts 
of   the    Scripture    had    been    translated    into    Old    English    for 


JOHN  WYCLIFFE  29 


the  use  of  priests.  But  the  complete  translation,  which  was 
planned  by  Wycliffe,  and  prepared  under  his  supervision,  was 
designed  strictly  for  the  use  of  the  p:nglish  people.  It  is  im- 
possible to  say  what  parts  of  it  were  his  own  work,  and  the 
whole  was  not  issued  until  after  his  death.  But  he  frequently 
introduces  passages  of  Scripture  in  the  vernacular  into  his 
English  sermons  and  homilies  ;  and  from  those  which  occur  in 
the  following  extracts  it  will  be  seen  how  greatly  Wycliffe's  work 
in  this  sphere  influenced  later  English  prose,  and  gave  to  it  that 
simple  force  and  directness  which  subsequent  hands  brought  to 
greater  perfection,  without  abandoning  the  original  type,  which  it 
was  his  to  set. 

H.  Craik, 


SERMONS 


Cum  turbas  irruerunt  ad  Jesum. — Luc.  v.  i. 

The  story  of  this  gospel  telleth  good  lore,  how  prelates  should 
teach  folk  under  them.  The  story  is  plain,  how  Christ  stood  by 
the  river  of  Gennesaret,  and  fishers  come  down  to  wash  therein 
their  nets  ;  and  Christ  went  up  into  a  boat  that  was  Simon's,  and 
prayed  him  to  move  it  a  little  from  the  land,  and  He  sate  and 
taught  the  people  out  of  the  boat.  And  when  Christ  ceased  to 
speak.  He  said  to  Simon,  Lead  the  boat  into  the  high  sea,  and 
let  out  your  nets  to  taking  of  fish.  And  Simon  answering  said  to 
Him,  Commander,  all  the  night  travailing  took  we  nought  ;  but 
in  Thy  word  shall  I  loose  the  net.  And  when  they  had  done  this 
they  took  a  plenteous  multitude  of  fish,  and  their  net  was  broken. 
But  they  beckoned  to  their  fellows  that  were  in  the  other  boat  to 
come  and  help  them  ;  and  they  came  and  filled  both  boats  of  fish, 
so  that  well  nigh  were  they  both  dreyiit.  And  when  Peter  had 
seen  this  wonder,  he  fell  down  to  Jesus'  knee,  and  said,  Lord,  go 
from  me  for  I  am  a  sinful  man.  For  Peter  held  him  not  worthy 
to  be  with  Christ,  nor  dwell  in  His  company  ;  for  wonder  came 
to  them  all  in  taking  of  these  fishes.  And  so  wondered  James 
and  John,  Zebedee's  sons,  that  were  Simon's  fellows.  And  Jesus 
said  to  Simon,  From  this  time  shalt  thou  be  taking  men.  And 
they  set  their  boats  to  the  land,  and  forsook  all  that  they  had,  and 
sued  Christ. 

Before  we  go  to  spiritual  understanding  of  this  gospel  we  shall 
wit  that  the  same  Christ's  disciple  that  was  first  cleped  Simon, 
was  cleped  Peter  after  of  Christ,  for  sadness  of  belief  that  he  took 
of  Christ,  which  Christ  is  a  corner  stone,  and  groundeth  all  truth. 
Over  this  we  shall  understand  that  the  apostles  were  cleped  of 

30 


JOHN  WYCLIFFE  31 


Christ  in  many  degrees  ;  first  they  were  cleped  and  accepted  to 
be  Christ's  disciples  ;  and  yet  they  turned  again,  as  Christ  Himself 
ordained,  to  live  in  the  world.  After  they  were  cleped  to  see 
Christ's  miracles,  and  to  be  more  homely  with  Him  than  they 
were  before  ;  but  yet  they  turned  again  to  the  world  by  times, 
and  lived  worldly  life,  to  profit  of  folk  that  they  dwelt  with.  And 
in  this  wise  Peter,  James,  and  John  went  now  to  fish.  But  the 
third  cleping  and  the  most  was  this, — that  the  apostles  forsook 
wholly  the  world  and  worldly  things,  and  turned  not  again  to 
worldly  life,  as  after  this  miracle  Peter  and  his  fellows  sued  Christ 
continually.  It  is  no  need  to  dip  us  in  this  story  more  than  the 
gospel  telleth,  as  it  is  no  need  to  busy  us  what  hight  Tobies' 
hound.  Hold  we  us  appeased  in  the  measure  that  God  hath 
given  us,  and  dream  we  not  about  new  points  that  the  gospel 
leaveth,  for  this  is  a  sin  of  curiosity  that  harmeth  more  than  pro- 
fiteth.  The  story  of  this  gospel  telleth  us  ghostly  wit,  both  of  life 
of  the  church  and  medeful  works,  and  this  should  we  understand, 
for  it  is  more  precious.  Two  fishings  that  Peter  fished  betokeneth 
two  takings  of  men  unto  Christ's  religion,  and  from  the  fiend  to 
God.  In  this  first  fishing  was  the  net  broken,  to  token  that  many 
men  be  converted,  and  after  break  Christ's  religion  ;  but  at  the 
second  fishing,  after  the  resurrection,  when  the  net  was  full  of 
many  great  fishes,  was  not  the  net  broken,  as  the  gospel  saith  ; 
for  that  betokeneth  saints  that  God  chooseth  to  Heaven.  And 
so  these  nets  that  fishers  fish  with  betokeneth  God's  law,  in  which 
virtues  and  truths  be  knitted  ;  and  other  properties  of  nets  tell 
properties  of  God's  law  ;  and  void  places  between  knots  betokeneth 
life  of  kind,  that  men  have  beside  virtues.  And  four  cardinal 
virtues  be  figured  by  knitting  of  the  net.  The  net  is  broad  in  the 
beginning,  and  after  strait  in  end,  to  teach  that  men,  when  they 
be  turned  first,  live  a  broad  worldly  life  ;  but  afterward,  when 
they  be  dipped  in  God's  law,  they  keep  them  straitlier  from  sins. 
These  fishers  of  God  should  wash  their  nets  in  his  river,  for 
Christ's  preachers  should  chevely  tell  God's  law,  and  not  meddle 
with  man's  law,  that  is  troubled  water  ;  for  man's  law  containeth 
sharp  stones  and  trees,  by  which  the  net  of  God  is  broken  and 
fishes  wend  out  to  the  world.  And  this  betokeneth  Gennesaret, 
that  is,  a  wonderful  birth,  for  the  birth  by  which  a  man  is  born 
of  water  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  much  more  wonderful  than 
man's  kindly  birth.  Some  nets  be  rotten,  some  have  holes,  and 
some  be  unclean  for  default  of  washing ;  and  thus  on  three  manners 


32  ENGLISH  PROSE 


faileth  the  word  of  preaching.  And  matter  of  this  net  and  break- 
ing thereof  give  men  great  matter  to  speak  God's  word,  for  virtues 
and  vices  and  truths  of  the  gospel  be  matter  enough  to  preach  to 
the  people. 

II. 

Simile  est  regnuni  coeloruni  homini. — Matt,  xviii.  23. 

This  gospel  telleth  by  a  parable  how  by  right  judgment  of  God 
men  should  be  merciful. — "  The  kingdom  of  Heaven,  saith  Christ, 
is  like  to  an  earthly  king  that  would  reckon  with  his  servants. 
And  when  he  had  begun  to  reckon,  one  was  offered  unto  him  that 
owed  him  ten  thousand  besants,  and  when  he  had  not  to  pay  of, 
the  lord  bade  he  should  be  sold,  his  wife  and  his  children  and  all  that 
he  had,  and  that  that  he  ought  the  lord  should  be  allgates  paid. 
This  servant  fell  down  and  prayed  the  lord  and  said.  Have  patience 
in  me,  and  I  shall  quit  thee  all.  The  lord  had  mercy  on  him,  and 
forgave  him  all  his  debt.  This  servant  went  out  and  found  one 
of  his  debtors,  that  ought  him  an  hundred  pence  ;  and  took  him 
and  strangled  him,  and  bade  him  pay  his  debt.  And  his  servant 
fell  down  and  prayed  him  of  patience,  and  he  should  by  time  yield 
him  all  that  he  ought  him.  But  this  man  would  not,  and  went 
out  and  put  him  in  prison,  till  he  had  paid  the  debt  that  he  ought 
him.  And  other  servants  of  this  man,  when  they  saw  this  deed, 
mourned  full  much,  and  told  all  this  to  the  lord.  .  And  the  lord 
cleped  him,  and  said  unto  him.  Wicked  servant,  all  thy  debt  I 
forgave  thee,  for  thou  prayedst  me  ;  behoved  it  not  thee  to  have 
mercy  on  thy  servant,  as  I  had  mercy  on  thee  ?  And  the  lord 
was  wroth,  and  gave  him  to  tormentors,  till  he  had  paid  all  the 
debt  that  he  ought  him.  On  this  manner,  said  Christ,  shall  My 
Father  of  heaven  do  to  you,  but  if  you  forgive,  each  one  to  his 
brother,  of  your  free  heart,  the  trespass  that  he  hath  done  him. 

The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  holy  ChurcYi  ol  men  tnat  no\r 
travail  here  ;  and  this  Church  by  his  head  is  like  to  a  man 
king,  for  Christ,  head  of  this  Church,  is  both  God  and  man.  Thi» 
king  would  reckon  with  his  servants,  for  Christ  hath  will  without. 
end  to  reckon  with  men  at  three  times.  First,  Christ  reckoneth 
with  men  when  He  teacheth  them  by  reason  how  much  they  have 
had  of  Him,  and  how  much  they  owe  Him  ;  the  second  time 
Christ  reckoneth  with  men,  when  in  the  hour  of  man's  death  He 


JOHN  IVYCLIFFE  33 


telleth  them  at  what  point  these  men  shall  ever  justly  stand  ;  the 
third  reckoning  is  general,  that  shall  be  at  the  day  of  doom,  when 
this  judgment  generally  shall  be  openly  done  in  deed.  As  ancnt 
the  first  reckoning,  Christ  reckoneth  with  rich  men  of  this  world, 
and  showeth  them  how  much  they  owe  Him,  and  showeth  by 
righteousness  of  His  law  how  they  and  theirs  should  be  sold,  and 
so  make  amends  by  pain  of  things  that  they  performed  not  in  deed. 
But  many  such  men  for  a  time  have  compunction  in  heart,  and 
pray  God  of  His  grace  to  have  patience  in  them,  and  they  shall 
in  this  life  serve  to  Christ  truly.  And  so  Christ  forgiveth  them 
upon  this  condition.  But  they  wend  out,  and  sue  not  Christ  their 
Lord  in  mercy,  but  oppress  their  servants  that  owe  them  but  a 
little  debt,  and  put  them  in  prison,  and  think  not  on  God's  mercy  ; 
and  other  servants  of  God  both  in  this  life  and  in  the  other  tell  to 
God  this  fellncss,  and  pray  Him  of  vengeance.  No  doubt,  God 
is  wroth  at  this,  and  at  two  reckonings  with  man  He  reasoneth 
this  cruel  man,  and  judgeth  him  justly  to  pain. 

And  therefore,  Christ  biddeth,  by  Luke,  all  men  to  be  merciful, 
for  their  Father  of  Heaven  that  shall  judge  them  is  merciful.  But 
we  should  understand  by  this,  that  this  mercy  that  Christ  axeth  is 
nothing  again  reason,  and  so  by  this  just  mercy  men  should  some 
time  forgive,  and  some  time  should  they  punish,  but  ever  by  reason 
of  inercy.  The  reason  of  mercy  standeth  in  this  ;  that  (which) 
men  might  do  cruelly  they  (may)  do  justly  for  God'§  sake,  to 
amendment  of  men  ;  and  men  may  mercifully  reprove  men,  and 
punish  them,  and  take  of  them  their  just  debts  for  bettering  of 
these  debtors.  On  this  manner  doth  God  that  is  full  of  mercy, 
and  saith  that  He  reproveth  and  chastiseth  His  wanton  children 
that  He  loveth  ;  and  thus  Christ  reproved  Pharisees,  and  punished 
priests  with  other  people,  and  punisheth  mercifully  all  damned 
men  in  hell,  for  it  standeth  not  with  His  right  that  He  punish 
but  mercifully.  God  giveth  goods  of  kind  by  grace  to  these  men 
that  He  damneth,  and  if  He  punished  them  more,  yet  Y{&- iiieddletli 
mercy.  But  here  men  should  be  ware  that  all  the  goods  that  they 
have  be  goods  of  their  God,  and  they  naked  servants  of  God  ; 
and  thus  should  they  warily  flee  to  take  their  own  vengeance,  but 
venge  injury  of  God,  and  intend  amendment.  Thus  Christ, 
meekest  of  all,  suffered  His  own  injury  in  two  temptations  of  the 
fiend,  but  in  the  third  He  said,  Go,  Satan,  and  reproved  him 
sharply  by  authority  of  God.  Thus  Moses,  mildest  man  of  all, 
killed  many  thousand  of  his  folk,  for  they  worshipped  a  calf  as 
VOL.    I  ^ 


34  ENGLISH  PROSE 


they  should  worship  God.  And  thus  in  our  works  of  mercy  Heth 
much  discretion,  for  oft  times  our  mercy  axeth  to  venge  and  to 
punish  men,  and  else  justices  of  man's  law  should  never  punish 
men  to  the  death,  but  oft  times  they  do  amiss,  and  they  wit  not 
when  they  do  well,  and  so  religion  of  priests  should  leave  such 
judgments. 

III. 

Nisi  granum  frumenti. — John  xii.  24. 

In  this  short  Gospel  be  doubts,  both  of  conscience  and  of  other. 
First  philosophers  doubt,  whether  (the)  seed  loseth  his  form  when 
it  is  made  a  new  thing,  as  the  Gospel  speaketh  here  ;  and  some 
men  think  nay,  for  sith  the  same  quantity  or  quality  or  virtue 
that  was  first  in  seed,  liveth  after  in  the  fruit,  as  a  child  is  often 
like  to  his  father  or  to  his  mother,  or  else  to  his  eld  father,  after 
that  the  virtue  lasteth, — and  sith  all  these  be  accidents,  that  may 
not  dwell  without  subject, — it  seemeth  that  the  same  body  is  first 
seed  and  after  fruit,  and  thus  it  may  oft  change  from  seed  to  fruit 
and  again.  Here  many  cleped  philosophers  glaver  diversely  ; 
but  in  this  matter  God's  law  speaketh  thus,  as  did  eld  clerks,  that 
the  substance  of  a  body  is  before  that  it  be  seed,  and  now  fruit 
and  now  seed,  and  now  quick  and  now  dead.  And  thus  many 
forms  must  be  together  in  one  thing,  and  specially  when  the  parts 
of  that  thing  be  meddled  together  ;  and  thus  the  substance  of  a 
body  is  now  of  one  kind  and  now  of  another.  And  so  both  these 
accidents,  quality  and  quantity,  must  dwell  in  the  same  substance, 
all  if  it  be  changed  in  kinds,  and  thus  this  same  thing  that  is  now 
a  wheat  corn  shall  be  dead  and  turn  to  grass,  and  after  to  many 
corns.  But  variance  in  words  in  this  matter  falleth  to  clerks,  and 
showing  of  equivocation,  the  which  is  more  ready  in  Latin  ;  but 
it  is  enough  to  us  to  put,  that  the  same  substance  is  now  quick 
and  now  dead,  and  now  seed  and  now  fruit ;  and  so  that  substance 
that  is  now  a  wheat  corn  must  needs  die  before  that  it  is  made 
grass,  and  sith  be  made  an  whole  ear.  And  thus  speaketh  holy 
writ  and  no  man  can  disprove  it.  Error  of  freres  in  this  matter  is 
not  here  to  rehearse,  for  it  is  enough  to  tell  how  they  err  in  belief. 


J  OHM  WYCLIFFE  35 


IV 

Homo  quidam  habuit  duos. — LuKE  xv.  11, 

Luke  saith  that  Christ  told  how  a  man  had  two  sons  ;  and  the 
younger  of  them  said  unto  his  father,  Father,  give  me  a  por- 
tion of  the  substance  that  falleth  me.  And  the  father  de-parted 
him  his  goods.  And  soon  after  this  young  son  gathered  all  that 
fell  to  him,  and  went  forth  in  pilgrimage  into  a  far  country  ;  and 
there  he  wasted  his  goods,  living  in  lechery.  And  after  that  he 
had  ended  all  his  goods,  there  fell  a  great  hunger  in  that  land, 
and  he  began  to  be  needy.  And  he  went  out  and  cleaved  to  one 
of  the  citizens  of  that  country,  and  this  citizen  sent  him  into  his 
town  to  keep  swine.  And  this  son  coveted  to  fill  his  belly  with 
these  holes  that  the  hogs  eat,  and  no  man  gave  him.  And  he, 
turning  again,  said,  How  many  hinds  in  my  father's  house  be  full 
of  loaves,  and  I  perish  here  for  hunger.  I  shall  rise,  and  go  to  my 
father,  and  say  to  him,  Father,  I  have  sinned  in  Heaven  and  before 
thee  ;  now  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  cleped  thy  son,  make  me  as  one 
of  thy  hinds.  And  he  rose  and  came  to  his  father.  And  yet 
when  he  was  far,  his  father  saw  him,  and  was  moved  by  mercy, 
and  running  against  his  son,  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 
And  the  son  said  to  him.  Father,  I  have  sinned  in  Heaven  and 
before  thee  ;  now  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  cleped  thy  son.  And 
the  father  said  to  his  servants  anon.  Bring  ye  forth  the  first  stole, 
and  clothe  ye  him,  and  give  ye  a  ring  in  his  hand,  and  shoon 
upon  his  feet.  And  bring  ye  a  fat  calf,  and  slay  him,  and  eat  we, 
and  feed  us  ;  for  this  son  of  mine  was  dead,  and  is  quickened 
again,  and  he  was  perished,  and  is  found.  And  they  began  to 
feed  him.  And  his  elder  son  was  in  the  field  ;  and  when  he  came 
and  was  nigh  the  house,  he  heard  a  symphony  and  other  noise  of 
minstrelsy.  And  this  elder  son  cleped  one  of  the  servants,  and 
asked  what  were  these  things.  And  he  said  to  him,  Thy  brother 
is  come,  and  thy  father  hath  slain  a  fat  calf,  for  he  hath  received 
him  safe.  But  this  elder  son  had  disdain  and  would  not  come  in  ; 
therefore,  his  father  went  out,  and  began  to  pray  him.  And  he 
answered,  and  said  to  his  father,  Lo,  so  many  years  I  serve  to 
thee,  I  passed  never  thy  mandement  ;  and  thou  gavest  me  never 
a  kid,  for  to  feed  me  with  my  friends.  But  after  that  he,  this  thy 
son   hath  murthered  his   goods  with  hooris    is  come,   thou  hast 


36  ENGLISH  PROSE 


killed  to  him  a  fat  calf.  And  the  father  said  to  him,  Son,  thou 
art  ever  more  with  me,  and  all  my  goods  be  thine.  But  it  was 
need  to  eat  and  to  make  merry,  for  he  this  thy  brother  was  dead, 
and  liveth  again  ;  he  was  perished,  and  is  found. 


A  SHORT  RULE  OF   LIFE 

If  thou  be  a  lord,  look  thou  live  a  rightful  life  in  thine  own 
person,  both  anent  God  and  man,  keeping  the  hests  of  God,  doing 
the  works  of  mercy,  ruling  well  thy  five  wits,  and  doing  reason 
and  equity  and  good  conscience  to  all  men.  The  second  time, 
govern  well  thy  wife,  thy  children,  and  thy  homely  men  in  God's 
law,  and  suffer  no  sin  among  them,  neither  in  word  nor  in  deed, 
up  thy  might,  that  they  may  be  ensample  of  holiness  and  righteous- 
ness to  all  other.  For  thou  shalt  be  damned  for  their  evil  life 
and  thine  evil  sufferance,  but  if  thou  amend  it  up  thy  might.  The 
third  time,  govern  well  thy  tenants,  and  maintain  them  in  right 
and  reason  and  be  merciful  to  them  in  their  rents  and  worldly 
merciments,  and  suffer  not  thy  officers  to  do  them  wrong  nor 
extortions,  and  chastise  in  good  manner  them  that  be  rebel 
against  God's  hests  and  virtuous  living,  more  than  for  rebellion 
against  thine  own  cause  or  person.  And  hold  with  God's  cause, 
and  love,  reward,  praise,  and  cherish  the  true  and  virtuous  of  life, 
more  than  if  they  do  only  thine  own  profit  and  worship  ;  and 
maintain  truly,  up  thy  cunning  and  might,  God's  law  and  true 
preachers  thereof,  and  God's  servants  in  rest  and  peace,  for  by 
this  reason  thou  boldest  thy  lordship  of  God.  And  if  thou  failest 
of  this,  thou  forfeitest  against  God  in  all  thy  lordship,  in  body 
and  soul  ;  principally  if  thou  maintainest  Antichrist's  disciples  in 
their  errors  against  Christ's  life  and  His  teaching,  for  blindness 
and  worldly  friendship,  and  helpest  to  slander  and  pursue  true 
men  that  teach  Christ's  Gospel  and  His  life.  And  warn  the 
people  of  their  great  sins,  and  of  false  priests  and  hypocrites  that 
deceive  Christian  men,  in  faith  and  virtuous  life,  and  worldly 
goods  also. 

If  thou  be  a  labourer,  live  in  meekness,  and  truly  and  wilfully 
do  thy  labour  ;  that  if  thy  lord  or  thy  master  be  an  heathen  man, 
that  by  thy  meekness  and  wilful  and  true  service,  he  have  not  to 
murmur   against   thee,    nor   slander   thy    God    nor    Christendom. 


JOHN  IVYCLIFFE  37 


And  serve  not  to  Christian  lords  with  murmuring,  nor  only  in 
their  presence,  but  truly  and  wilfully  in  their  absence,  not  only  for 
worldly  dread  nor  worldly  reward,  but  for  dread  of  God  and  good 
conscience,  and  for  reward  in  heaven.  For  that  God  that  putteth 
thee  in  such  service  wots  what  state  is  best  for  thee,  and  will  reward 
thee  more  than  all  earthly  lords  may,  if  thou  dost  it  truly  and  wil- 
fully for  His  ordinance.  And  in  all  things  beware  of  murmuring 
against  God  and  His  visitation,  in  great  labour  and  long,  and  great 
sickness  and  other  adversities,  and  beware  of  wrath,  of  cursing 
and  waryifig,  or  banning,  of  man  or  of  beast.  And  ever  keep 
patience  and  meekness  and  charity  both  to  God  and  man.  And 
thus  each  man  in  these  three  states  oweth  to  live,  to  save  himself 
and  help  other  ;  and  thus  should  good  life,  rest,  peace,  and  charity 
be  among  Christian  men,  and  they  be  saved,  and  heathen  men 
soon  converted,  and  God  magnified  greatly  in  all  nations  and  sects 
that  now  despise  Him  and  His  law,  for  the  wicked  living  of  false 
Christian  men. 


THE  CLERGY  SUBJECT  TO  THE  CIVIL 
MAGISTRATE 

Worldly  clerks  and  feigned  religious  break  and  disturb  much 
the  king's  peace  and  his  realm's.  For  the  prelates  of  this  world, 
with  priests  less  and  more,  write  in  their  laws  that  the  king  hath 
no  jurisdiction  nor  power  of  their  persons,  nor  the  goods  of  holy 
Church.  And  yet  Christ  and  His  Apostles  were  most  obedient 
to  kings  and  lords,  and  taught  all  men  to  be  subject  to  them  and 
serve  them,  truly  and  wilfully,  in  bodily  works  and  tribute,  and 
dread  them  and  worship  them  before  all  other  men.  First,  the 
wise  King  Solomon  put  down  an  high  bishop  that  was  false  to 
him  and  his  realm,  and  exiled  him,  and  ordained  a  good  priest 
for  him,  as  the  third  book  of  Kings  telleth.  And  Jesus  Christ 
paid  tribute  to  the  emperor,  and  commanded  men  to  pay  him 
tribute.  And  Saint  Peter  commandeth  in  God's  name  Christian 
men  to  be  subject  to  every  creature  of  man,  either  to  the  king,  as 
more  high  than  other,  or  to  dukes,  as  sent  of  him  to  the  vengeance 
of  misdoers,  and  praising  of  good  men.  Also  Saint  Paul  com- 
mandeth by  authority  of  God  that  every  soul  be  subject  to  higher 
powers,  for  there  is  no  power  but  of  God ;  princes  be  not  to  the 


38  ENGLISH  PROSE 


dread  of  good  work,  but  of  evil  work.  Wilt  thou  not  dread  the 
potestate  ?  Do  good  and  thou  shalt  have  praising  thereof,  for  he 
is  God's  minister  to  thee  unto  good.  Soothly,  if  thou  hast  done 
evil,  dread  thou,  for  he  beareth  not  the  sword  without  cause,  for 
he  is  God's  minister,  avenger  unto  wrath  to  him  that  doth  evil. 
Therefore  be  ye  subject,  not  only  for  wrath  but  for  conscience. 
Pay  to  all  men  debts,  both  tribute  and  custom,  and  dread  and 
honour  and  love.  And  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  suffered  meekly 
painful  death  of  Pilate,  not  excusing  him  from  his  jurisdiction  by 
his  clergy.  And  Saint  Paul  proferred  him  ready  to  suffer  death 
by  doom  of  the  emperor's  justice,  if  he  were  worthy  to  death,  as 
Deeds  of  Apostles  teach.  And  Paul  appealed  to  the  heathen 
emperor  from  the  priests  of  the  Jews,  for  to  be  under  his  jurisdic- 
tion and  to  save  his  life.  Lord  !  who  hath  made  our  worldly 
clerks  exempt  from  kings'  jurisdiction  and  chastising,  sith  God 
giveth  kings  this  office  on  all  misdoers  ?  Certes  no  man  but 
Anti-Christ,  Christ's  enemy  ;  sith  clerks,  and  namely  high  priests, 
should  be  most  meek  and  obedient  to  lords  of  this  world,  as  were 
Christ  and  His  Apostles,  and  teach  other  men  both  in  word  and 
deed  to  be  mirror  of  all  men,  to  give  this  meekness  and  obedience 
to  the  king  and  his  rightful  laws.  How  strong  thieves  and  traitors 
be  they  now  to  kings  and  lords,  in  denying  this  obedience,  and  in 
giving  ensample  to  all  men  in  the  land  for  to  be  rebel  against  the 
king  and  lords  !  For  in  this  they  teach  lewd  men  and  commons 
of  the  land,  both  in  words  and  laws  and  open  deed,  to  be  false 
and  Yebel  against  the  king  and  other  lords.  And  this  seemeth 
well  by  their  new  law  of  decretals,  where  the  proud  clerks  have 
ordained  this, — that  our  clergy  shall  pay  no  subsidy  nor  tax,  nor 
helping  of  our  king  and  our  realm,  without  leave  and  assent  of  the 
worldly  priest  of  Rome  ;  and  yet  many  times  this  proud  worldly 
priest  is  enemy  of  our  land,  and  privily  maintaineth  our  enemies, 
to  war  against  us  with  our  own  gold.  And  thus  they  make  this 
alien  proudest  priest  of  all  other  to  be  chief  lord  of  all  goods  that 
clerks  have  in  the  realm,  and  that  is  of  the  most  part  thereof. 
Where  be  more  traitors  both  to  God  and  holy  Church,  and  namely 
to  their  liege  lord  and  his  realm  ;  to  make  an  alien  worldly  priest, 
enemy  to  us,  chief  lord  of  the  most  part  of  our  realm  .'' 


CHAUCER 

[The  year  of  Chaucer's  birth  is  unknown  :  it  may  be  reckoned  as  not  later 
than  1340.  He  was  born  in  London,  the  son  of  a  wine  merchant  ;  and  by 
the  circumstances  of  his  birth  and  fortune  found  himself  admitted  to  a  know- 
ledge of  different  ranks  of  society  and  different  occupations  :  he  was  early 
a  courtier,  he  saw  something  of  war  and  was  prisoner  for  a  short  time  in 
France  ;  later,  he  had  considerable  experience  of  affairs,  both  of  routine  work 
in  a  government  office,  and  of  more  exciting  diplomatic  commissions.  His 
prosperity  was  not  uniform,  and  he  was  not  rich  when  he  died  in  1400.  To 
his  immediate  and  vivid  knowledge  of  various  aspects  of  mankind,  he  added  a 
great  amount  of  learning.  Chaucer's  prose  works  are  four  in  number: — (i) 
a  translation  of  Boetius,  de  Consolatione  Philosophic€,  referred  to  in  the  Prologue 
to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  and  the  poem  to  Adam  the  Scribe  :  (2,  3)  two 
of  the  Canterbury  Tales  ;  Melibeus,  told  by  Chaucer  himself,  from  Jean  de 
Meun's  abridged  French  version  of  the  Liber  Consolationis  et  Consilii  of 
Albertano  of  Brescia  (1246)  ;  and  the  Parson's  Tale,  mainly  from  the  Somme 
le  Roi  of  Frere  Lorens  (1279)  :  (4)  the  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe,  written  in 
1 39 1  for  the  author's  son  Lewis. 

"  Boece  "  has  been  edited  by  Dr.  R.  Morris,  and  the  Astrolabe  by  Professor 
Skeat,  for  the  Early  English  Text  Society.  The  Chaucer  Society  has  printed 
the  Liber  Consolationis,  edited  by  Dr.  Sundby  ;  V Histoire  de  Milibi'e  et  de 
Prudence,  as  incorporated  in  le  Mhiagier  de  Paris,  was  published  in  1846.] 

The  value  of  Chaucer's  prose  lies  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  it  was 
written  by  Chaucer.  Of  the  four  prose  treatises  belonging  to  him, 
there  is  none  that  is  not  translation,  close  or  loose.  In  his  poetry 
also  Chaucer  is  a  "  great  translator,"  but  there  the  proportions  of 
original  and  translated  work  are  different,  and  there  the  translated, 
or  derivative,  work  has  an  interest  and  originality  of  style  that  is 
wholly  wanting  to  the  prose.  The  prose  works,  however,  are  not 
to  be  neglected. 

Chaucer  has  two  different  manners  of  working :  in  some 
of  his  writings  and  from  some  points  of  view  he  is  an 
original  inventor  ;   more  frequently  he    appears  as  an  agent  for 

39 


40  ENGLISH  PROSE 


impofted  knowledge,  for  commonplaces  both  in  abstract  ideas,  in 
imagination,  and  in  style.  From  the  first  he  is  superior  in  poetic 
style  to  the  two  preceding  centuries  of  English  versifiers,  who  had 
depended  upon  French  authors  for  their  stories,  or  their  metres, 
or  both.  If  he  does  not  at  first  go  much  beyond  the  Romaunt 
of  the  Rose,  or  the  school  of  Machault  and  Deschamps,  at  any 
rate  he  is  the  equal  of  his  masters  in  their  own  province  ;  the 
first  English  rhymer  who  can  speak  the  courtly  language  and 
escape  from  rusticity,  the  first  who  has  a  right  to  criticise  the  older 
imperfect  styles 

"  Of  Horn  Child  and  of  Ypotis, 
Of  Bevis  and  Sir  Guy." 

And  while  he  learned  from  France  the  fine  art  of  poetic  language, 
he  learned  also  from  Boccaccio,  what  no  French  author  could 
have  taught  him,  the  art  of  construction  in  story-telling,  the  epic 
unities,  the  grouping  and  co-ordination  of  scenes  and  incidents. 
In  his  prose  there  is  nothing  corresponding  to  these  magnificent 
poetical  acquisitions.  The  authors  from  whom  he  translates  or 
adapts  have  nothing  very  novel  or  original  in  their  matter,  and 
Chaucer's  prose  style  is  in  no  way  an  innovation  on  the  good, 
ordinary,  common  form  of  medieval  prose. 

What  is  most  surprising  about  the  matter  of  the  four  prose 
treatises  is  that  so  much  of  it  should  be  so  dull,  particularly  in 
the  two  that  belong  to  the  Can/erbioy  Tales.  The  Parsotis  Tale 
and  the  Tale  of  Melibeiis  are  taken  from  books  that  have  not  the 
distinction  of  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy,  nor  the  immediate 
practical  utility  of  the  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe.  The  Parso?t's 
Tale  is  a  good  version  of  the  common  doctrine  of  medieval 
preachers  at  their  best ;  the  Tale  of  Melibeiis  is  perhaps  the 
worst  example  that  could  be  found  of  all  the  intellectual  and 
literary  vices  of  the  Middle  Ages — bathos,  forced  allegory,  spirit- 
less and  interminable  moralising.  Contented  acquiescence  in  this 
exhausted  air  is  not  what  one  would  expect  from  Chaucer,  and 
sometimes  one  is  tempted  to  think  that  the  Tale  of  Melibcus  is  a 
mischievous  companion  of  the  Rime  of  Sir  Thopas.,  and  meant  to 
parody  a  worse  kind  of  "drasty  speech."  But  that  suggestion  is 
desperate,  and  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  believe  that  Chaucer 
found  some  interest  in  the  debate  of  Melibeus  and  his  wife 
Prudence. 

Chaucer's  whole  literary  career  shows  him  emerging  from  the 


CHAUCER  41 


average  opinion  and  manner  of  his  contemporaries,  and  coming 
out  from  the  medieval  crowd  to  stand  apart  by  himself,  individual 
and  free.  At  first  he  is  like  every  one  else  ;  his  voice  is  not  his 
own,  but  the  voice  of  the  century,  of  the  average  mind.  Even 
after  he  had  come  to  his  own,  and  found  his  true  genius,  he  kept 
a  retreat  open  into  the  comfortable  world  of  easy  thinking. 
Those  two  Ca7itt'rbu7y  Tales  are  the  proof  of  it,  and  not  the  only 
proof:  the  retention,  for  instance,  of  his  "Life  of  St.  Cecilia,"  as 
the  Second  Nun's  tale,  shows  how  far  he  was  from  any  intoler- 
ance towards  his  earlier  and  less  exacting  habits  of  thought  and 
imagination. 

In  a  number  of  medievjil  authors,  and  in  Chaucer  more  than 
any,  there  is  a  union  of  poetical  or  original  talent  with  an  interest 
in  the  diffusion  of  useful  knowledge.  The  minds  of  these  authors 
are  represented  or  symbolised  in  numbers  of  composite  medieval 
manuscript  books,  where  there  is  a  medley  of  poetry  and  sermons, 
romance,  receipts,  prescriptions,  and  popular  history  or  science — • 
a  tale  of  Troy  or  Brittany  crammed  in  along  with  an  Algoris- 
mus  or  a  Lticidarium.  Chaucer,  if  he  was  the  most  original 
author,  was  also  the  most  typical  average  man  of  his  time.  His 
collection  would  have  been  incomplete  without  Boetius  and  the 
Astrolabe,  without  Melibeus  and  the  Parson^s  Tale. 

His  choice  in  three  of  these  four  cases  is  beyond  all  criticism, 
if  it  was  his  purpose  to  help  in  that  work  of  teaching  which  had 
engaged  the  clergy  from  the  first,  and  had  competed  with  the 
attraction  of  poets  and  minstrels  at  the  courts  of  Charles  the 
Great  and  Alfred.  By  his  translation  of  Boetius  Chaucer  claims 
recognition  as  the  successor  of  Alfred.  Although  the  Consolafioti 
of  Philosophy  has  lost  its  vogue,  it  still  keeps  its  place  of  honour, 
and  still  justifies,  by  its  clear  statement  of  all  the  ancient  great 
ideas,  the  esteem  in  which  it  was  held  for  a  thousand  years.  It 
was  the  one  book  of  all  others  which,  by  its  simplicity,  kept  some- 
thing of  the  older  Greek  influences  alive,  the  serenity  of  the  earlier 
philosophers,  in  times  that  were  encumbered  and  distressed  with 
the  accumulation  of  philosophical  subtilties.  To  go  to  Boetius 
was  to  rise  above  scholasticism,  to  obtain  a  wider  prospect  ;  and 
Chaucer  did  not  err  in  going  where  Dante  had  gone  before 
him. 

The  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe  justifies  itself;  it  was  written 
for  Chaucer's  son,  and  it  deals  with  matter  that  was  universally 
interesting.      Moreover,  it  deals  with  that  one  part  of  science  in 


42  ENGLISH  PROSE 


which  the  popular  culture  of  Chaucer's  time  was  far  ahead  of  the 
present.  Most  people  nowadays  are  satisfied  with  the  dogma 
that  the  earth  goes  round  th?  sun  ;  they  accept  this  on  trust,  and 
know  nothing  more  about  the  sun  or  stars  ;  they  are  ignorant  of 
the  facts  that  go  to  make  the  puzzling  astronomical  passages  in 
the  Canterbury  Tales  or  the  Divine  Comedy. 

The  Parsofis  Tale  is  a  good  sermon  compiled  from  different 
sources,  notably  from^the  Somme  des  Vices  et  des  Vertus  of  Friar 
Laurence,  the  Dominican  (1279),  an  admirably  written  essay  on 
Holy  Living,  to  which  some  reparation  was  due  from  England, 
It  had  been  translated  about  fifty  years  earlier  into  a  thing  called 
the  Ayenbite  of  Inwit  by  an  honest  monk  of  Canterbury,  whose 
method  of  translation  (viz.  to  turn  each  French  word  discretely 
into  English  without  regard  to  context,  common  sense,  grammar  or 
orthodoxy)  remained  unparalleled,  till  in  the  latter  days  came  Pedro 
Carolino  and  the  Portuguese  Dialogue  Book.  Chaucer's  Parson^ s 
Tale  is  a  different  rendering  of  Friar  Laurence,  and  of  the  gentle, 
urbane  eloquence  of  medieval  clerical  French  prose  at  its  best. 
This  French  book  has  a  likeness,  in  its  refinement,  and  its 
freedom  from  vulgar  emphasis  and  vulgar  condescension,  to 
the  prose  of  ^Ifric.  There  is  not  much  difference,  one  finds, 
in  the  matter  of  prose  literature,  for  all  the  300  years  that  had 
gone  by. 

The  Tale  of  Melibeus  makes  one  doubt  whether  the  change 
between  the  tenth  century  and  the  fourteenth  was  not  for  the 
worse.  There  are  curious  inanities  in  old,  popular,  edifying 
books,  like  the  Dialogues  of  Gregory.  But  the  Tale  of  Melibeus 
is  beyond  rivalry  for  its  enjoyment  of  the  rankest  commonplaces. 
There  is  glow  and  unction  about  its  mediocrity  ;  the  intolerable 
arguments  of  Dame  Prudence  are  a  masterpiece,  as  though  written 
in  an  orgy  and  enthusiasm  of  flatness  and  insipidity.  Why  it 
was  selected  by  Chaucer  for  translation  is  mysterious  enough. 
Yet  the  monstrous  virtue  of  Dame  Prudence  has  affinities  with 
some  of  the  untruths  in  the  Canterbury  Tales — with  Griselda, 
with  the  point  of  honour  in  the  Franklin^s  Tale;  after  all,  it  is 
only  an  exaggeration  of  what  is  well  known  in  all  medieval 
literature:  it  is  not  a  new  element.  It  is  hard  to  forgive,  especially 
when  one  thinks  that  it  was  to  this  the  innocent  Sir  Thopas  was 
sacrificed.  In  one  sense,  however,  the  Tale  of  Melibeus  displays  the 
foundation  of  all  Chaucer's  works.  The  peculiarity  of  Chaucer  is 
that  with  all  his  progress  in   his  art  he  kept  close  to  the  general 


CHAUCER  43 

sense  of  his  age,  and  had  always,  in  some  corner  of  his  being, 
the  average  mind  of  the  fourteenth  century.  To  that  part  of 
him  belong  all  his  prose  works.  The  Tale  of  Melibeus  is  repre- 
sentative of  the  ideas  and  tastes  of  milHons  of  good  souls. 
Being  representative,  it  could  not  be  alien  from  Chaucer. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  TREATISE  ON  THE  ASTROLABE 

Little  Lewis  my  son,  I  have  perceived  well  by  certain  evidences 
thine  ability  to  learn  sciences  touching  numbers  and  proportions  ; 
and  as  well  consider  I  thy  busy  prayer  in  special  to  learn  the 
treatise  of  the  astrolabe.  Then,  forasmuch  as  a  philosopher  saith, 
he  wrappeth  him  in  his  friend  that  condescendeth  to  the  rightful 
prayers  of  his  friend,  therefore  have  I  given  thee  a  sufficient 
astrolabe  as  for  our  horizon,  compounded  after  the  latitude  of 
Oxenford,  upon  which  by  mediation  of  this  little  treatise,  I  pur- 
pose to  teach  thee  a  certain  number  of  conclusions  appertaining 
to  the  same  instrument.  I  say  a  certain  of  conclusions,  for  three 
causes.  The  first  cause  is  this  ;  trust  well  that  all  the  conclusions 
that  have  been  found,  or  else  possibly  might  be  found  in  so  noble 
an  instrument  as  an  astrolabe,  be  unknown  perfectly  to  any  mortal 
man  in  this  region,  as  I  suppose.  Another  cause  is  this  ;  that 
soothly  in  any  treatise  of  the  astrolabe  that  I  have  seen  there  be 
some  conclusions  that  will  not  in  all  things  perform  their  behests. 
And  some  of  them  be  too  hard  to  thy  tender  age  of  ten  year  to 
conceive. 

This  treatise  divided  in  five  parts  will  I  show  thee  under  full 
light  rules  and  naked  words  in  English  ;  for  Latin  ne  canst  thou 
yet  but  small,  my  little  son.  But  natheless  suffice  to  thee  these 
true  conclusions  in  English,  as  well  as  sufficeth  to  these  noble 
clerks  Greeks  these  same  conclusions  in  Greek,  and  to  Arabians 
in  Arabic,  and  to  Jews  in  Hebrew,  and  to  the  Latin  folk  in  Latin  ; 
which  Latin  folk  have  them  first  out  of  other  diverse  languages, 
and  written  in  .their  own  tongue,  that  is  to  say,  in  Latin.  And  God 
wot  that  in  all  these  languages,  and  in  many  more,  have  these  con- 
clusions been  sufficiently  learned  and  taught,  and  yet  by  divers 
rules,  right  as  divers  paths  lead  divers  folk  the  right  way  to  Rome. 

Now  will  I  pray  meekly  every  discreet  person  that  readeth  or 
heareth  this  little  treatise,  to  have  my  rude  enditing  for  excused, 

44 


CHA  UCER  45 


and  my  superfluity  of  words,  for  two  causes.  The  first  cause  is, 
for  that  curious  enditing  and  hard  sentence  is  full  heavy  at  once 
for  such  a  child  to  learn.  And  the  second  cause  is  this,  that 
soothly  me  seemeth  better  to  write  unto  a  child  twice  a  good 
sentence,  than  he  forget  it  once. 

And,  Lewis,  if  so  be  that  I  show  thee  in  my  light  English  as 
true  conclusions  touching  this  matter,  and  not  only  as  true,  but 
as  many  and  as  subtle  conclusions  as  be  showed  in  Latin  in  any 
common  treatise  of  the  astrolabe,  can  me  the  more  thank  ;  and 
pray  God  save  the  king,  that  is  lord  of  this  language,  and  all  that 
him  faith  beareth  and  obeyeth,  every  one  in  his  degree,  the  more 
and  the  less.  But  consider*  well,  that  I  ne  usurp  not  to  have 
found  this  work,  of  my  labour  or  of  mine  engifie.  I  am  not  but  a 
lewd  compilator  of  the  labour  of  old  astrologians,  and  have  it 
translated  in  mine  English  only  for  thy  doctrine  ;  and  with  this 
sword  shall  I  slay  envy. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   HELL 

The  third  cause  that  ought  move  a  man  to  contrition,  is  dread  of 
the  day  of  doom,  and  of  the  horrible  pains  of  hell.  For  as  St. 
Jerome  saith,  at  every  time  that  I  remember  me  of  the  day  of 
doom,  I  quake  ;  for  when  I  eat  or  drink,  or  what  so  that  I  do, 
ever  seemeth  me  that  the  trump  soundeth  in  mine  ear,  Rise  ye  up 
that  be  dead,  and  come  to  the  judgment.  Oh  good  God  !  much 
ought  a  man  to  dread  such  a  judgment,  there  as  we  shall  be  all, 
as  saith  St.  Paul,  before  the  seat  of  our  Lord  Jesu  Christ ; 
where  as  he  shall  make  a  general  congregation,  where  as  no  man 
may  be  absent,  for  certes  there  availeth  no  t'ssoin  nor  excusation  ; 
and  not  only  that  our  default  shall  be  judged,  but  eke  that  all  our 
works  shall  be  openly  known.  And  as  St.  Bernard  saith  there 
shall  no  plaining  avail  nor  no  sleight  ;  we  shall  give  reckoning 
of  every  idle  word.  There  shall  we  have  a  judge  that  may  not 
be  deceived  nor  corrupt  ;  and  why  ?  for  certes,  all  our  thoughts 
be  discovered  as  to  him,  nor  for  prayer,  nor  for  mede  he  will  not 
be  corrupt.  And,  therefore,  saith  Solomon,  the  wrath  of  God  will 
not  spare  no  wight  for  prayer  nor  for  gift.  And,  therefore,  at  the 
day  of  doom  there  is  no  hope  to  escape.  Wherefore,  as  St. 
Anselm  saith,  full  great  anguish  shall  the  sinful  folk  have  at  that 


46  ENGLISH  PROSE 


time  ;  there  shall  be  the  stern  and  the  wroth  judge  set  above,  and 
under  him  the  horrible  pit  of  hell  open,  to  destroy  him  that  would 
not  beknow  his  sins,  which  sins  openly  be  shewed  before   God 
and  before  every  creature  ;  and  on  the  left  side  more  devils  than 
heart  may  think  for  to  harry  and  to  draw  the  sinful  souls  to  the 
pain  of  hell  ;    and  within   the  hearts  of  folk  shall  be  the  biting 
conscience,    and    without    forth    shall   be   the   world   all   burning. 
Whither  shall   then   the  wretched  sinful  man  flee  to  hide  him  ? 
Certes  he  may  not  hide  him,  he  must  come  forth  and  shew  him. 
For  certes,  as  saith  St.  Jerome,  the  earth  shall  cast  him  out  of 
him  and  the  sea  also,  and  the  air  also,  that  shall  be  full  of  thunder- 
claps and  lightnings.      Now  soothly,  who-so  well  remembreth  him 
of  these  tidings,  I   guess  his  sin  shall  not  turn  him  to  dehght  but 
to  great  sorrow,  for  dread  of  the  pain  of  hell.      And,  therefore, 
saith  Job  to  God,  suffer.   Lord,  that   I  may  a  while  bewail  and 
weep,   or  I  go  without  returning  to  the  dark  land  covered  with 
darkness  of  death,  to  the  land  of  misease  and  of  darkness,  whereas 
is  the  shadow  of  death,  whereas  is  none  order  nor  ordinance,  but 
grisly  dread  that  ever  shall  last.      Lo,  here  may  ye  see,  that  Job 
prayed   respite   a   while,  to   weep   and   bewail   his   trespass :    for 
forsooth  one  day  of  respite  is  better  than  all  the  treasure  in  this 
world.      And  for  as  much  as  a  man  may  acquit  himself  before  God 
by  penance  in  this  world  and  not  by  treasure,  therefore  should  he 
pray  to  God,  to  give  him  respite  a  while,  to  weep  and  to  wail  his 
trespass.      For  certes,  all  the  sorrow  that  a  man  might  make  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world,  is  but  a  little  thing  at  regard  of  the 
sorrow  of  hell.      The  cause  why  that  Job  calleth  hell  the  land  of 
darkness,  understandeth  that  he  clepeth  it  land  or  earth,  for  it  is 
stable  and  never  shall  fail :  and  dark,  for  he  that  is  in  hell  hath 
default  of  light  material :  for  certes  the  dark  light  that  shall  come 
out  of  the  fire  that  ever  shall  burn,  shall  turn  him  to  pain  that   is 
in  hell,  for  it  sheweth  him  to  the  horrible  devils  that  him  torment. 
Covered  with   the  darkness  of  death  :   that  is  to  say,  that  he  that 
is  in  hell,  shall  have  default  of  the  sight  of  God  :  for  certes  the 
sight  of  God  is   the  life  perdurable.      The  darkness   of  death  be 
the  sins  that    the   wretched  man  hath  done,   which  that  disturb 
him  to  see  the  face  of  God,  right  as  a  dark  cloud  doth  betwixt  us 
and   the   sun.      Land   of  misease  :   because  that   there  be   three 
manner  of  defaults  against  three  things  that  folks  in  this  world 
have  in  this  present  life,  that  is  to  say,  honours,  delices,   riches. 
Against  honours  have  they  in  hell  shame  and  confusion  :  for  well 


CHAUCER  47 

ye  wit  that  men  clepe  honour  the  reverence  that  men  do  to  the 
man  ;  but  in  hell  is  none  honour  nor  reverence  :  for  certes  no 
more  reverence  shall  be  done  there  to  a  king  than  to  a  knave. 
For  which  God  saith  by  the  prophet  Jeremiah,  thilk  folk  that  me 
displease,  shall  be  in  despite.  Honour  is  eke  cleped  great  lord- 
ship. There  shall  no  wight  serve  other,  but  of  harm  and  of 
torment.  Honour  eke  is  cleped  great  dignity  and  highness  ;  but 
in  hell  shall  they  be  all  for-trode  of  devils.  And  God  saith,  the 
horrible  devils  shall  go  and  come  upon  the  heads  of  damned  folk  ; 
and  this  is,  for  as  much  as  the  higher  that  they  were  in  this 
present  life,  the  more  shall  they  be  abated  and  defiled  in  hell. 
Against  riches  of  this  world  shall  they  have  misease  of  poverty, 
and  this  poverty  shall  be  in  four  things  :  in  default  of  treasure,  of 
which,  as  David  saith,  the  rich  folk  that  embraced  and  united  in  all 
their  heart  the  treasure  of  this  world,  shall  sleep  in  the  sleeping  of 
death,  and  nothing  shall  they  find  in  their  hands  of  all  their 
treasure.  And  moreover,  the  misease  of  hell  shall  be  in  the 
default  of  meat  and  drink.  For  God  saith  thus  by  Moses,  they 
shall  be  wasted  by  hunger,  and  the  birds  of  hell  shall  devour 
them  with  bitter  teeth,  and  the  gall  of  the  dragon  shall  be  their 
drink,  and  the  venom  of  the  dragon  their  morsels.  And  further, 
moreover  their  misease  shall  be  in  default  of  clothing,  for  they 
shall  be  naked  in  body,  as  of  clothing,  save  of  fire  in  which  they 
burn,  and  other  filths  ;  and  naked  shall  they  be  of  soul,  of  all 
manner  virtues,  which  that  is  the  clothing  of  the  soul.  Where  be 
then  the  gay  robes,  and  the  soft  sheets,  and  the  small  shirts  ?  Lo, 
what  saith  of  them  the  Prophet  Isaiah,  under  them  shall  be  strawed 
moths,  and  their  covertures  shall  be  of  worms  of  hell.  And 
further,  moreover  their  misease  shall  be  in  default  of  friends,  for 
he  is  not  poor  that  hath  good  friends  ;  but  here  is  no  friend,  for 
neither  God  nor  no  creature  shall  be  friend  unto  them,  and  every 
of  them  shall  hate  other  with  deadly  hate.  The  sons  and  the 
daughters  shall  rebel  against  the  father  and  the  mother,  and 
kindred  against  kindred,  and  chide  and  despise  every  of  them 
other,  both  day  and  night,  as  God  saith  by  the  Prophet  Micah, 
and  the  loving  children  that  whilom  loved  so  fleshly  every  other 
would  every  of  them  eat  other  if  they  might.  For  how  should 
they  love  them  together  in  the  pain  of  hell,  when  they  hated 
every  of  them  other  in  the  prosperity  of  this  life  ?  For  trust  well 
their  fleshly  love  was  deadly  hate ;  as  saith  the  Prophet  David, 
Whoso  that  loveth  wickedness,   he  hateth  his  soul,   and  whoso 


48  ENGLISH  PROSE 


hateth  his  own  soul  certes  he  may  love  none  other  wight  in  no 
manner.  And  therefore  in  hell  is  no  solace  nor  friendship,  but 
ever  the  more  fleshly  kindreds  that  be  in  hell,  the  more  cursing, 
the  more  chidings,  and  the  more  deadly  hate  there  is  among 
them.  And  furtherover  they  shall  have  default  of  all  manner 
delices ;  for  certes  delicesh&^Sx&x  the  appetites  of  the  five  wits;  as 
sight,  hearing,  smelling,  savouring,  and  touching.  But  in  hell 
their  sight  shall  be  full  of  darkness  and  of  smoke,  and  their  eyes, 
therefore,  full  of  tears  ;  and  their  hearing  full  of  waymenting,  and 
of  grunting  of  teeth,  as  saith  Jesu  Christ,  their  nostrils  shall  be 
full  of  stinking  stink  ;  and,  as  saith  Isaiah  the  Prophet,  their 
savouring  shall  be  full  of  bitter  gall  ;  and  touching  of  all  their  body 
shall  be  covered  with  fire  that  never  shall  quench,  and  with  worms 
that  never  shall  die,  as  God  saith  by  the  mouth  of  Isaiah.  And 
for  all  so  much  as  they  shall  not  ween  that  they  may  die  for  pain, 
and  by  their  death  flee  from  pain,  that  may  they  understand  in 
the  word  of  Job,  that  saith,  there  is  the  shadow  of  death.  Certes 
a  shadow  hath  the  likeness  of  the  thing  of  which  it  is  a  shadow ; 
but  the  shadow  is  not  the  same  thing  of  which  it  is  shadow  ;  right 
so  fareth  the  pain  of  hell  ;  it  is  like  death,  for  the  horrible  anguish  ; 
and  why  ?  for  it  paineth  them  ever  as  though  men  should  die 
anon  ;  but  certes  they  shall  not  die.  For,  as  saith  St.  Gregory, 
to  wretched  caitiffs  shall  be  given  death  without  death,  and  end 
without  end,  and  default  without  failing  ;  for  their  death  shall 
always  live,  and  their  end  shall  evermore  begin,  and  their  default 
shall  not  fail.  And,  therefore,  saith  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  they 
shall  follow  death,  and  they  shall  not  find  him,  and  they  shall 
desire  to  die,  and  death  shall  flee  from  them.  And  eke  Job  saith, 
that  in  hell  is  no  order  of  rule.  And  albeit  that  God  hath  created 
all  things  in  right  order,  and  no  thing  without  order,  but  all  things 
be  ordained  and  numbered,  yet  natheless  they  that  be  damned  be 
not  in  order,  nor  hold  no  order.  For  the  earth  shall  bear  them 
no  fruit  (for,  as  the  Prophet  David  saith,  God  shall  destroy  the 
fruit  of  the  earth  as  for  them),  nor  water  shall  give  them  no  mois- 
ture, nor  the  air  no  refreshing,  nor  fire  no  light.  For,  as  saith 
St.  Basil,  the  burning  of  the  fire  of  this  world  shall  God  give  in 
hell  to  them  that  be  damned,  but  the  light  and  the  clearness  shall 
be  given  in  heaven  to  his  children  ;  right  as  the  good  man  gives 
flesh  to  his  children  and  bones  to  his  hounds.  And  for  they  shall 
have  no  hope  to  escape,  saith  St.  Job,  at  the  last,  that  there  shall 
horror   and   grisly   dread   dwell    without    end.      Horror   is   alway 


CHAUCER  49 


dread  of  harm  that  is  to  come,  and  this  dread  shall  ever  dwell  in 
the  hearts  of  them  that  be  damned.  And,  therefore,  have  they 
lorn  all  their  hope  for  seven  causes.  First,  for  God  that  is  their 
judge  shall  be  without  mercy  to  them,  nor  they  may  not  please 
Him,  nor  none  of  His  hallows,  nor  they  may  give  no  thing  for 
their  ransom,  nor  they  have  no  voice  to  speak  to  Him,  nor  they 
may  not  flee  from  pain,  nor  they  have  no  goodness  in  them  that 
they  may  show  to  deliver  them  from  pain.  And,  therefore,  saith 
Solomon,  the  wicked  man  dieth,  and  when  he  is  dead  he  shall 
have  no  hope  to  escape  from  pain.  Whoso  would  then  well 
understand  these  pains  and. bethink  him  well  that  he  hath  deserved 
thilk  pains  for  his  sins,  certes  he  should  have  more  talent  to  sigh 
and  to  weep,  than  for  to  sing  or  play.  For  as  that  Solomon 
saith.  Whoso  that  had  the  science  to  know  the  pains  that  be 
established  and  ordained  for  sin  he  would  make  sorrow. 


(From  "The  Parson's  Tale,"  in  the  Canterbury  Tales.) 


REGINALD  PECOCK 


[Reginald,  or  Reynold,  Pecock  was  born,  as  far  as  may  be  calculated  by 
the  leading  events  of  his  life,  a  few  years  before  the  end  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  native  of  Wales,  and  was  educated  at 
Oriel  College,  Oxford,  of  which  he  became  Provost  in  1417.  In  1431,  having 
secured  the  patronage  of  Humphry,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  then  the  leading 
man  in  England,  he  became  Master  of  the  College  established  in  London  by 
Sir  Richard  Whittington,  Lord  Mayor.  In  1444  he  was  consecrated  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph,  having  now  become  widely  known  both  as  a  preacher  and 
writer,  and  having  devoted  himself  especially  to  correct  the  errors  of  the 
"Lollards,"  by  which  name  the  followers  of  Wycliffe,  and  others  who  had 
carried  Wycliffe's  attacks  upon  the  Church  to  more  extreme  lengths,  were 
popularly  known.  In  1449  Pecock  wrote  his  Repressour  of  over-tnuck 
Blaming  the  Clergy  (although  the  book  seems  not  to  have  appeared  until 
five  or  six  years  later),  and  in  the  same  year  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of 
Chichester.  Some  time  after  he  produced  his  Treatise  of  Faith,  and  this, 
with  the  Repressour,  constitutes  the  chief  memorial  of  his  work  in  English 
prose.      He  died  about  1460.  J 

It  is  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  trace  Pecock's  position 
during  the  stormy  disputes  that  raged  in  England  throughout  his 
life.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  religious  struggles  had 
passed  into  a  new  phase  since  Wycliffe's  days.  On  the  one  hand, 
the  shades  of  religious  opinion  had  become  much  more  numerous, 
and  tendencies  to  unorthodoxy  of  creed  were  judged  with  a  more 
critical  eye.  On  the  other  hand,  those  who  impugned  the  authority 
of  the  Church  were  the  subject  of  more  severe  repressive  laws, 
which  were  often  turned  against  those  who,  while  they  defended 
ecclesiastical  usages,  based  their  defence  upon  principles  which 
allowed  too  free  a  handling  of  matters  which  it  was  deemed  the 
duty  of  the  truly  orthodox  to  hold  the  subject  of  implicit  accept- 
ance rather  than  of  argument.  We  must  also  take  account  of 
the  fact  that  political  factions  ran  high,  and  that  the  patronage 
of  such  a  iTian  as  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  was  in  itself  a  ground 

5<- 


REGINALD  PECOCK  51 

for  the  bitter  hatred  of  those  who  sought  to  supplant  the  Duke. 
After  Gloucester's  fall,  Pecock  seems  to  have  been  adroit  enough 
to  secure  the  patronage  of  his  opponent,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  ;  but 
the  influence  of  Suffolk,  as  the  adherent  of  Queen  Margaret,  was 
short-lived  ;  and  after  his  murder  Pecock  seems  to  have  become 
an  object  of  hatred  both  to  the  people  and  to  the  now  dominant 
faction,  who  used  the  charge  of  heresy  to  crush  him,  or  lent 
their  aid  to  those  who  determined  to  crush  him  for  his  heretical 
opinions. 

The  Repressoiir  had  defended  certain  usages  or  "  governances  " 
of  the  Church — the  use  of  images,  pilgrimage,  clerical  endow- 
ments, the  orders  of  the  clergy,  the  primacy  of  the  Pope,  and  the 
religious  orders— which  had  been  made  the  subject  of  attack  and 
satire  by  the  Lollards.  But  he  defended  these,  frequently,  not 
by  the  authority  of  Scripture  or  the  Church,  but  by  an  appeal  to 
reason,  and  by  arguing  that  they  were  not  forbidden  by  Scripture. 
He  constantly  seeks  to  appeal  to  natural  reason,  or  ''  reason  of 
kind  "  as  he  calls  it.  The  danger  of  such  a  defence  was  evident ; 
but  what  is  not  so  clear  is  the  reason  for  Pecock  being  selected  for 
persecution,  and  the  means  by  which  his  enemies  were  able  to 
stir  up  against  him  what  was  apparently  a  strong  current  of  popular 
opinion.  His  Treatise  of  Faith  touched  an  even  more  dangerous 
point  ;  and  the  unorthodox  tendency  of  his  teaching  became  more 
plain,  when  in  that  work  he  attacked  the  thesis,  then  stoutly  main- 
tained, "  That  the  faith  hath  no  merit  which  is  proved  by  human 
reason." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  contributing  causes  of  his  down- 
fall, it  is  plain  that  Pecock  became  the  object  of  intense  hatred. 
In  1457  he  was  expelled  from  a  Council  of  Lords,  spiritual  and 
temporal,  at  London,  and  was  soon  after  arraigned  for  heresy. 
His  conduct  now  proved  that  he  did  not  possess  the  courage  of 
his  opinions.  He  attempted  feebly  to  maintain  the  orthodoxy  of 
his  utterances  ;  but  brought  face  to  face  with  the  alternative  of  re- 
cantation or  a  martyr's  death,  he  scarcely  hesitated  in  his  choice. 
His  attitude,  indeed,  seems  that  of  one  who  had  adopted  certain 
views  from  conceit  or  love  of  novelty  rather  than  from  conviction. 
He  must  die  in  his  errors,  he  said  in  effect,  or  be  put  to  shame  by 
recantation  ;  and  he  chose  the  latter  alternative.  This  did  not, 
however,  secure  him  from  the  vengeance  of  his  enemies.  He  was 
deprived  of  his  bishopric,  and  confined  in  strict  durance,  and  on 
a  meagre  pension,  in  Thorney  Abbey,  where  he  died. 


52  ENGLISH  PROSE 

In  judging  Pecock's  style  we  must  take  account  not  only  of  the 
events  of  his  time  and  of  his  religious  attitude,  but  also  of  the  temper 
and  character  of  the  man.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of  boundless 
conceit,  which  pleased  itself  by  constant  flattering  references  to 
his  own  works,  and  to  the  ample  support  which  they  afford,  in  his 
own  opinion,  to  the  positions  he  maintains.  There  is  little  of 
devotion  or  heartiness  in  his  religious  writings,  which  seem  to  be 
the  fruit  of  a  mind  pleased  with  the  refinements  of  scholastic 
reasoning,  and  enjoying  its  own  acuteness.  Many  of  the  argu- 
ments he  employs  are  far-fetched  and  ingenious  rather  than  fitted 
to  convince  us  of  the  sincerity  of  the  writer.  But  the  chief 
interest  of  his  works,  as  the  earliest  specimens  of  strictly  contro- 
versial prose  writing,  lies  in  the  curious  combination  of  a  refine- 
ment and  subtlety  little  suited  to  his  age,  with  the  choice  of  the 
vernacular  as  his  medium  of  expression.  This  moved  his 
accusers  to  attack  as  impious  the  handling  of  religious  mysteries 
in  the  tongue  of  the  vulgar,  and  it  was  evidently  adopted  by 
Pecock  in  order  to  secure  greater  popularity.  His  diction  is 
archaic  for  his  own  age,  and  is  even  affected  in  its  discarding  of 
all  those  stores  with  which  not  Chaucer  only,  but  even  Wycliffe, 
had  enriched  our  language.  The  strained  archaicism — because  we 
can  call  it  nothing  else — is  all  the  more  curious  when  taken  in  con- 
nection with  the  elaborate  statement  of  arguments  in  the  logical 
forms  of  the  schools,  with  his  accuracy  of  definition,  and  with  his 
careful  recapitulation  of  terms,  which  might  remind  us  of  the 
iteration  of  a  legal  document.  In  Pecock,  as  in  those  of  a 
later  day  whose  aims  and  motives  we  may  more  exactly  gauge, 
"  the  style  was  the  man  "  ;  and  we  must  not  forget  in  judging  that 
style  that  it  is  the  expression  of  a  mind  acute  rather  than  strong  ; 
supporting  views  which  were  not  inspired  by  devotion,  but 
developed  with  ingenuity  ;  following  a  method  borrowed  from 
the  schoolmen,  but  choosing  a  medium  by  which  he  might  reach 
the  ear  of  the  people. 

H.  Craik. 


THE  USES  OF  LOGIC 

That  I  be  the  better  and  the  clearer  understood  of  the  lay  people 
in  some  words  to  be  after  spoken  in  this  present  book,  I  set  now 
before  to  them  this  doctrine  taken  shortly  out  of  the  faculty  of 
logic.  An  argument,  if  he  be  full  and  formal,  which  is  cleped  a 
syllogism,  is  made  of  two  propositions,  driving  out  of  them,  and 
by  strength  of  them,  the  third  proposition.  Of  the  which  three 
propositions  the  two  first  be  cleped  premisses,  and  the  third 
following  out  of  them  is  cleped  the  conclusion  of  them.  And  the 
first  of  those  two  premisses  is  cleped  the  first  premiss,  and  the 
second  of  them  is  cleped  the  second  premiss.  And  each  such 
argument  is  of  this  kind,  that  if  the  both  premisses  be  true  the 
conclusion  concluded  out,  and  by  them,  is  also  true  ;  and  but  if 
evereither  of  those  premisses  be  true,  the  conclusion  is  not  true. 
Ensample  thereof  is  this  ;  "  Each  man  is  at  Rome,  the  Pope  is  a 
man,  eke  the  Pope  is  at  Rome."  So  here  be  set  forth  two  pro- 
positions, which  be  these:  "Each  man  is  at  Rome,"  and  "The 
Pope  is  a  man  "  ;  and  these  be  the  two  premisses  in  this  argu- 
ment, and  they  drive  out  the  third  proposition,  which  is  this  : 
"  The  Pope  is  at  Rome,"  and  it  is  the  conclusion  of  the  two 
premisses.  Wherefore,  certes,  if  any  man  can  be  sicker  for  any 
time  that  these  two  premisses  be  true,  he  may  be  sicker  that  the 
conclusion  is  true,  though  all  the  angels  in  heaven  would  say,  and_ 
hold  that,  thilk  conclusion  were  not  true.  And  this  is  a  general 
rule  in  every  good  and  formal  and  full  argument,  that  if  his 
premisses  be  known  for  true  the  conclusion  ought  be  avowed  for 
true,  whatever  creature  will  say  the  contrary. 

What  properties  and  conditions  be  required  to  an  argument, 
that  he  be  full  and  formal  and  good,  is  taught  in  logic  by  full, 
fair,  and  sure  rules,  and  may  not  be  taught  of  me  here  in  this 
present  book.  But  would  God  it  were  learned  of  all  the  common 
people  in  their  mother's  language,  for  then  they  should  thereby 

53 


54  ENGLISH  PROSE 


be  put  from  much  rudeness  and  boisterousness  which  they  have 
now  in  reasoning  ;  and  then  they  should  soon  know  and  perceive 
when  a  skile  and  an  argument  bindeth  and  when  he  not  bindeth, 
that  is  to  say,  when  he  concludeth  and  proveth  his  conclusion, 
and  when  he  not  so  doeth  ;  and  then  they  should  keep  themselves 
the  better  from  falling  into  errors,  and  they  might  the  sooner 
come  out  of  errors  by  hearing  of  arguments  made  to  them,  if  they 
into  any  errors  were  fallen  ;  and  then  they  should  not  be  so  blunt 
and  so  rude  and  informal  and  boisterous  in  reasoning,  and  that 
both  in  their  arguing  and  in  their  answering,  as  they  now  be  ; 
and  then  should  they  not  be  so  obstinate  against  clerks  and  against 
their  prelates,  as  some  of  them  now  be,  for  default  of  perceiving 
when  an  argument  proceedeth  into  his  conclusion  of  needs,  and 
when  he  not  so  doeth,  but  seemeth  only  so  do.  And  much  good 
would  come  forth  if  a  short  compendious  logic  were  devised  for 
all  the  common  people  in  their  mother's  language  ;  and,  certes, 
to  men  of  court,  learning"  the  king's  law  of  England  in  these  days, 
thilk  now  said  short  compendious  logic  were  full  precious.  Into 
whose  making,  if  God  will  grant  leave  and  leisure,  I  purpose 
sometime  after  mine  other  business  for  to  essay. 

Repressour,  Part  I. 


REASON  AND  SCRIPTURE 

Of  which  first  principal  conclusion  thus  proved  followeth  further 
this  corollary,  that  whenever  and  wherever  in  Holy  Scripture,  or 
out  of  Holy  Scripture,  be  written  any  point  or  any  governance  of 
the  said  law  of  kind,  it  is  more  verily  written  in  the  book  of  man's 
soul  than  in  the  outward  book  of  parchment  or  of  vellum  ;  and  if 
any  seeming  discord  be  betwixt  the  words  written  in  the  outward 
book  of  Holy  Scripture  and  the  doom  of  reason,  writ  in  man's 
soul  and  heart,  the  words  so  written  withoutforth  ought  be 
expounded  and  be  interpreted  and  brought  for  to  accord  with  the 
doom  of  reason  in  thilk  matter ;  and  the  doom  of  reason  ought 
not  for  to  be  expounded,  glazed,  interpreted,  and  brought  for  to 
accord  with  the  said  outward  writing  in  Holy  Scripture  of  the 
Bible,  or  aughtwhere  else  out  of  the  Bible.  Forwhy,  when  ever 
any  matter  is  treated  by  it  which  is  his  ground,  and  by  it  which 
is  not  his  ground,  it  is  more  to  trust  to  the  treating  which  is  made 


REGINALD  PECOCK  55 

thereof  the  ground  than  by  the  treating  thereof  by  it  which  is 
not  thereof  the  ground  ;  and  if  thilk  two  treatings  ought  not 
discord,  it  followeth  that  the  treating  done  by  it  which  is  not  the 
ground  ought  to  be  made  for  to  accord  with  the  treating  which  is 
made  by  it  the  ground.  And  therefore  this  corollary  conclusion 
must  needs  be  true.  Repressour,  Part  I. 


DIVINITY  AND   MORAL  PHILOSOPHY 

Even  as  grammar  and  divinity  be  two  diverse  faculties  and 
cunnings,  and  therefore  be  unmeddled,  and  each  of  them  hath  his 
proper  to  him  bounds  and  marks,  how  far  and  no  farther  he  shall 
stretch  himself  upon  matters,  truths,  and  conclusions,  and  not  to 
entermeie,  neither  eniermeene,  with  any  other  faculty's  bounds  ; 
and  even  as  saddlery  and  tailory  be  two  diverse  faculties  and 
cunnings,  and  therefore  be  unmeddled,  and  each  of  them  hath  his 
proper  to  him  bounds  and  marks,  how  far  and  no  farther  he  shall 
stretch  himself  forth  upon  matters,  truths,  and  conclusions,  and 
not  intercommune  with  any  other  craft  or  faculty  in  conclusions 
and  truths  :  so  it  is  that  the  faculty  of  the  said  moral  philosophy 
and  the  faculty  of  pure  divinity,  or  the  Holy  Scripture,  be  two 
diverse  faculties,  each  of  them  having  his  proper  to  him  bounds 
and  marks,  and  each  of  them  having  his  proper  to  him  truths  and 
conclusions  to  be  grounded  in  him,  as  the  before -set  six  first 
conclusions  shew. 

Wherefore  followeth  that  he  unreasonably  and  reprovably 
asketh,  which  asketh  where  a  truth  of  moral  philosophy  is 
grounded  in  pure  divinity  or  in  Holy  Scripture,  and  will  not  else 
trow  it  to  be  true  ;  like  as  he  should  unreasonably  and  reprovably 
ask,  if  he  asked  of  a  truth  in  masonry,  where  it  is  grounded  in 
carpentery  ;  and  would  not  else  trow  it  be  true,  but  if  it  were 
grounded  in  carpentery. 

No  man  object  here  against  me  to  be  about  for  to  falsify  this 
present  thirteenth  conclusion  ;  and  that,  forasmuch  as  spurriers  in 
London  gild  their  spurs  which  they  make,  and  cutlers  in  London 
gild  their  knives  which  they  make,  as  though  therefore  spurrery 
and  cutlery  entermeened  and  interfered  with  goldsmith  craft,  and 
that  these  crafts  kept  not  to  themselves  their  proper  and  several 
to  themselves  bounds  and  marks.     For  certes  though  the  spurrier 


S6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  the  cutler  be  learned  in  thilk  point  of  goldsmith  craft  which 
is  gilding,  and  therefore  they  use  thilk  point  and  deed  and  truth 
of  goldsmith  craft,  yet  thilk  point  of  gilding  is  not  of  their  craft  but 
only  of  goldsmith  craft  ;  and  so  the  crafts  be  unmeddled  though 
one  workman  be  learned  in  them  both,  and  use  them  both,  right 
as  if  one  man  had  learned  the  all  whole  craft  of  goldsmithy 
and  the  all  whole  craft  of  cutlery,  and  would  hold  shops  of 
both,  and  work  somewhile  the  one  craft  and  somewhile  the 
other  craft.  Yet  therefore  those  crafts  in  thilk  man  be  not  the 
less  diverse,  nor  never  the  less  keep  their  severalty  in  bounds 
and  marks  as  in  themselves,  though  one  man  be  learned  in 
them  both,  and  can  work  them  both,  and  hath  them  both. 
Yet  it  is  impossible  the  one  of  those  crafts  for  to  enter  and 
entermete  with  the  truths  of  the  other,  though  one  man  can 
work  in  them  both  :  for  then  those  two  crafts  were  not  two  diverse 
crafts,  not  subordinate.  And  thus  ought  be  avoided  this  objection, 
right  as  though  a  man  were  a  knight  and  a  priest  ;  yet  knighthood 
in  thilk  man  is  as  far  atwin  from  priesthood  in  the  same  man  (as 
by  their  both  natures  and  beings,  though  not  in  place  or  person), 
as  be  knighthood  in  one  person  and  priesthood  in  an  other  person. 

Repressour,  Part  I. 

REASONABLE  USE  OF   IMAGES 

Peradventure  they  will  say  thus  :  Many  hundreds  of  men  clepe 
this  image  the  Trinity,  and  they  clepe  this  image  Christ,  and  this 
image  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  this  image  Mary,  and  this  image  Saint 
Peter,  and  this  image  Saint  Paul,  and  so  forth  of  other  ;  and  they 
would  not  so  clepe,  but  if  they  felt  and  believed  withinforth  as 
they  clepe  withoutforth  ;  for  else  they  were  double.  Wherefore 
all  those  hundreds  believe  amiss  about  those  images.  Thereto  it 
is  full  light  for  to  answer.  When  I  conie  to  thee  in  thy  parish 
church  thou  wilt  peradventure  say  to  me  thus  :  Lo  here  lieth  my 
father  and  there  lieth  my  grandfather,  and  in  the  other  side  lieth 
my  wife  ;  and  yet  they  lie  not  there,  but  only  their  bones  lie  there. 
If  I  come  to  thee  into  thine  hall  or  chamber  thou  wilt  peradventure 
say  to  me  in  describing  the  story  painted  or  woven  in  thine  hall 
or  chamber  :  "  Here  rideth  King  Arthur,  and  there  fighteth  Julius 
Caesar,  and  here  Hector  of  Troy  throweth  down  a  knight,"  and  so 
forth.      For  though  thou  thus  say  thou  wilt  not  hold  thee  for  to 


REGINALD  PECOCK  57 

say  therein  amiss.  Shall  I  therefore  bear  thee  hand  that  thou 
trowest  thy  father  and  thy  grandfather  and  thy  wife  for  to  live  and 
dwell  in  their  sepulchres,  or  shall  I  bear  thee  an  hand  that  thou 
trowest  Arthur  and  Julius  Caesar  and  Hector  to  be  quick  in  thy 
cloth,  or  that  thou  wert  double  in  then  so  ruling  of  speech  ?  I 
trow  thou  wouldest  say  I  were  uncourteous,  or  else  unwise  and 
foolish,  if  I  should  bear  thee  so  an  hand,  if  it  liked  thee  for  to  so 
speak.  And,  if  this  be  true,  it  followeth  that  as  well  thou  art 
uncourteous,  or  else  thou  art  to  be  excused  of  uncourtesy  by  thy 
great  folly  and  madness,  if  thou  bear  me  an  hand  that  all  the 
world  full  of  clerks  and  of  other  laymen  ween  some  images  to  be 
God,  and  some  images  to  be  quick  Saints  ;  or  that  they  be  double 
and  guilefull,  if  they  clepe  an  image  of  God  by  the  name  of  God, 
and  an  image  of  a  Saint  by  the  name  of  a  Saint.  But  (for  more 
clearly  this  same  answer  to  be  understood)  it  is  to  wit,  that  if 
figurative  speeches  were  not  allowed  to  be  had  in  use,  that  the 
image  or  the  likeness  of  a  thing  may  be  cleped  by  the  name  of 
the  thing  of  which  he  is  image  and  likeness,  and  that  the  part  of 
a  thing  may  be  cleped  under  and  by  the  name  of  his  whole,  as 
that  men  say  they  have  lived  forty  winters,  meaning  thereby  that 
they  have  lived  forty  years,  certes  this  challenge  might  well 
proceed  and  have  his  intent  ;  but  againward  it  is  so  that  such 
figurative  and  unproper  speech,  for  to  clepe  the  image  of  a  thing 
by  and  under  the  name  of  the  thing  of  which  he  is  image,  hath 
been  in  famous  use  and  hath  been  allowed  both  of  Holy  Scripture 
and  of  all  peoples.  And  therefore,  though  men  in  such  woned 
figurative  speech  say,  "  Here  at  this  altar  is  the  Trinity,  and  there 
at  thilk  altar  is  Jesus,  and  yonder  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  thereby 
is  Mary  with  Saint  Peter,"  and  so  forth  ;  it  needeth  not  therefore 
be  said  that  they  mean  and  feel  that  this  image  is  the  Trinity,  or 
that  thilk  image  is  verily  Jesus,  and  so  forth  of  other  ;  but  that 
these  images  be  the  likenesses  or  the  images  of  them. 

Repressflitr^  Part  II. 


DEFENCE  OF  RELIGIOUS  ORDERS 

For  to  turn  now  again  into  the  matter  of  religious  ;  though  it  be 
sufficiently  now  before  answered  to  the  second  seeming  skile 
made  against  those  religious,  yet  into  greater  strengthening  and 


58  ENGLISH  PKOSE 


enforcing  of  the  same  made  answer  and  into  the  more  clearing 
of  this  truth,  that  the  said  religious  be  not  to  be  cut  away  from 
the  church,  I  set  thus  much  more  here  at  this  time  :  Though  it 
were  so,  that  no  more  excuse  were  to  the  said  rehgious  for  to 
defend  them  from  cutting  away  than  which  is  before  said  (that 
out,  from,  and  by  them  no  sin  cometh  in  the  first  said  manner, 
but  in  the  second  said  manner  only  ;  and  therefore  they  deserve 
not  to  be  cut  away,  namely  sith  they  be  means  into  great  ghostly 
goods),  yet  more  thereto  for  to  excuse  may  be  set  thus  :  that 
greater  sin  would  come  from,  by,  and  out  of  the  cuttings  away  of 
those  religious  than  cometh  now  from,  by,  and  out  of  the  havings 
and  holdings  of  the  same  religious,  and  greater  sin  is  letted  by 
the  being  and  holding  of  those  religious  than  is  all  the  sin  by 
them  coming  ;  and  therefore  they  ought  much  rather  be  main- 
tained than  be  laid  aside.  That  this  is  true,  what  is  now  said,  I 
prove  thus  :  Take  me  all  the  religious  men  of  England,  which  be 
now  and  have  been  in  religion  in  England  this  thirty  years  and 
more  now  ended,  in  which  thirty  years  hath  been  continual  great 
war  betwixt  England  and  France  ;  and  let  see  what  should  have 
worthe  of  the  men  in  these  years,  if  they  had  not  been  made 
religious.  Let  see  how  they  should  have  lived,  and  what  manner 
of  men  they  should  have  been.  Whether  not  they  should  have 
been  as  wellnigh  all  other  men  be  and  have  been  in  this  thirty- 
fourth  winter  in  England  ;  and  therefore  they  should  have  been 
or  guileful  artificers,  or  unpitiful  questmongers  and  forsworn  jurors, 
or  soldiers  waged  into  France  for  to  make  much  murther  of  blood, 
yea,  and  of  souls,  both  in  their  own  side  and  in  the  French  side  ? 
Who  can  say  nay  thereto,  but  that  right  likely  and  as  it  were 
unscapably  these  evils  and  many  more  should  have  befallen  to 
those  persons,  if  they  had  not  been  religious  ?  And  no  man  can 
find  againward  that  those  persons,  whiles  they  have  lived  in 
religion,  have  been  guilty  of  so  much  sin,  how  much  sin  is  now 
rehearsed  ;  and  of  which  they  should  have  been  guilty,  if  they  had 
not  been  religious.  Then  followeth  of  need  that  the  religious  in 
England  have  been  full  noble  and  full  profitable  hedges  and  wards 
throughout  these  thirty-four  years  for  to  close  and  keep  and  hedge 
in  and  warn  so  many  persons  from  so  much  greater  sins  into 
which  else,  if  those  religious  had  not  been,  those  persons  should 
have  fallen  and  have  been  guilty.  And  soothly  this  skile  (as  me 
seemeth)  ought  move  each  man  full  much  for  to  hold  with  such 
religious,  if  he  be  wise  for  to  consider  how  sinful  it  is  wellnigh 


REGINALD  PECOCK  59 

all  persons  living  out  of  religion  ;  and  into  how  cumbrous  a  plight 
the  world  is  brought,  that  those  sins  (as  it  were)  may  not  be  left ; 
and  how  that  religious  persons  should  be  of  like  bad  condition,  if 
they  were  not  in  religion,  and  that  in  religion  they  be  not  of  so 
bad  condition,  though  they  be  men  and  not  angels,  and  cannot 
live  without  all  sin  ;  and  that  the  sin  coming  into  them,  whiles 
they  be  in  religion,  cometh  not  into  them  by  the  religion  as  by 
the  first  manner  of  coming  before  taught  in  the  same  chapter,  but 
by  the  second  manner  of  coming  only. 

Repressour^  Part  II. 


MALORY 


[Beyond  what  is  stated  by  Caxton  in  his  Preface  to  the  Morte  d'  Arthur, 
and  in  his  Colophon,  and  what  Malory  himself  says  at  the  end  of  his  compila- 
tion, we  know  nothing  of  the  authorship  or  of  the  author  of  this  the  most 
popular  English  work  of  the  closing  Middle  Ages.  In  his  Preface  Caxton 
tells  us  how  for  certain  reasons  he  at  first  shrunk  from  printing  a  book  about 
King  Arthur;  but,  being  at  length  persuaded  by  "many  noble  and  divers 
gentlemen  of  this  realm  of  England,"  he,  "  after  the  simple  conning  that  God 
hath  sent  him,  enprised  to  imprint  a  book  of  the  noble  histories  of  the  said 
King  Arthur  and  of  certain  of  his  knights  after  a  copy  unto  me  delivered, 
which  copy  Sir  Thomas  Malory  did  take  out  of  certain  book  of  French,  and 
reduced  it  into  English. "  In  his  Colophon  he  again  mentions  Sir  Thomas 
as  the  reducer  of  the  work  into  English,  and  adds  that  it  was  by  himself 
"divided  into  xxi  books  chapitred,  and  enprinted,  and  finished  in  the  Abbey 
Westminster,  the  last  day  of  July  the  year  of  our  Lord  mcccclxxxv. " 

"I  pray  you, "  runs  Malory's  own  concluding  sentence, — the  last  part  of 
it,  in  a  kind  of  metre — the  words  "knight,"  "might,"  and  "night"  rhyming 
together — "  all  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  that  read  this  book  of  Arthur  and 
his  knights  from  the  beginning  to  the  ending,  pray  for  me  while  I  am  on  live 
that  God  send  me  good  deliverance,  and  when  I  am  dead  I  pray  you  all  pray 
for  my  soul  ;  for  this  book  was  ended  the  ninth  year  of  the  reign  of  King 
Edward  the  Fourth  by  Sir  Thomas  Maleore,  knight,  as  Jesu  help  him  for  his  gPeat 
might,  as  he  is  the  servant  of  Jesus  both  day  and  night."  Edward  IV.'s  regnal 
years  are  computed  from^th  March  1461  ;  so  Malory's  translation  was  finished 
sometime  between  4th  March  1469  and  4th  March  1470,  some  fifteen  years 
before  Caxton  printed  it.  There  is  a  village  called  Kirkby  Mallory  in  Leicester- 
shire, about  five  miles  north  of  Hinckly  ;  and  we  know,  on  Leland's  authority, 
that  a  family  of  the  name  held  property  at  Hutton  Conyers  and  also  at  High 
Studley,  both  places  near  Ripon  in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire.  In  the  north 
transept  of  Ripon  Cathedral  is  a  monument  to  the  Mallorys  of  Studley  Royal. 
But  with  neither  of  these  occurrences  of  the  name  can  he  be  certainly  con- 
nected. His  description  of  himself  as  the  servant  of  Jesu  both  day  and  night 
might  very  well  mean,  and  has  been  taken  to  mean,  that  he  was  in  ''Holy 
Orders"  ;  but  more  probably  it  simply  expresses  what  all  his  work  illustrates, 
viz.,  that  he  was  of  a  sincerely  religious  spirit.] 

Sir  Thomas  Malory's  Morte  d'' Arthur  is  of  high  distinction  in 
many  ways.      It  is  the  largest  and  completest  collection  of  the 
60 


MALORY  6i 

Arthurian  romances  ;  it  is  arranged  with  remarkable  skill  and 
judgment  ;  it  is  written  in  a  style  of  wonderful  simplicity  and  of 
wonderful  effectiveness  ;  it  has  been  ever  since  the  favourite  hand- 
book of  all  students,  poetic  and  other,  who  have  felt  any  interest 
in  the  Arthurian  story  and  in  chivalrous  romance. 

It  is,  in  fact,  a  complete  Arthuriad.  What  so  many  great 
writers  designed,  Malory  has  in  his  own  way  accomplished.  He 
tells  the  tale  of  the  old  king  from  the  beginning  to  the  end. 
There  are  many  episodes,  but  these  are  subordinate  to  the  main 
theme.  No  doubt  he  takes  his  material  from  the  French  ;  but  he 
takes  it  from  various  sources,  not  from  any  single  work  which 
had  already  done  what  it  was  his  special  purpose  to  do.  So  to 
translate  and  abridge  and  to  correlate  numerous  French  works 
that  treated  of  the  Table  Round  in  prose  and  in  poetry  was  an 
achievement  demanding  a  real  artistic  sense  and  power.  And,  in 
fact,  to  this  day  the  only  Arthurian  epic  our  literature  has  to 
show  is  this  work  of  Malory's.  For  Spenser  never  reached  the 
properly  Arthurian  part  of  the  Faerie  (lueeti  ;  Milton  never 
actually  took  in  hand  the  Arthurian  legends,  though  they  so  long 
and  so  late  attracted  him  ;  Dryden's  opera  of  King  Arthur  just 
serves  to  remind  us  that  he  never  wrote  the  heroic  poem  on 
Arthur  which,  wisely  or  unwisely,  he  for  many  years  meditated  ; 
Tennyson  himself  warns  us  against  looking  to  Iiim  for  an  epic, 
when  he  entitles  his  Arthurian  pieces  "  Idylls."  Thus  our  one 
Arthurian  epic  is  in  prose.  Some  critic  has  regretted  that  Malory 
did  not  attempt  verse  ;  but  we  may  be  sure  that  Malory's  judg- 
ment was  sound  in  this  respect.  He  understood  well  his  own 
limits  and  the  limits  of  his  time,  as  also  his  own  genius  and  the 
genius  of  his  time.  A  different  age  would  have  filled  him  with  a 
different  inspiration.  But  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century 
in  England  was  probably  incapable  of  any  high  poetic  form.  And 
an  attempt  on  Malory's  part  to  assume  a  poetic  form  would 
probably  have  been  scarcely  less  disastrous  than  had  Bunyan 
produced  his  famous  allegory  in  such  couplets  as  compose  its 
Preface,  instead  of  in  the  admirable  prose  which,  with  his  other 
gifts,  has  given  him  a  place  amongst  English  classics.  The  prose 
of  Malory  too  is  admirable.  It  is  spoilt  by  no  tricks  or  afifecta- 
tions  ;  it  is  not  always  thinking  of  itself,  so  to  speak,  or  wishing 
to  be  thought  about.  It  aims  merely  at  doing  its  duty  as  a 
rendering  of  its  master's  thought.  What  particularly  distinguishes 
it  is  its  thoroughly  idiomatic  character.      Malory  displays  a  fine 


62  ENGLISH  PROSE 


instinct  in  his  use  of  his  mother-tongue.  It  is  wonderful  to  see 
how  this  subtle  sense  led  him  to  the  choice  of  phrases  that  were 
to  remain  always  part  of  the  vernacular,  his  choice,  no  doubt, 
improving  their  chance  of  remaining  so  ;  for  there  was  no  more 
popular  book  in  the  sixteenth  century  than  the  Morte  d' Arthur. 
Above  all,  Malory's  language  and  style  exactly  suit  his  subject. 
In  no  work  is  there  a  perfecter  harmony — a  more  sympathetic 
marriage — of  this  kind.  This  chronicler  of  knighthood  is  himself 
a  knight.  His  heart  is  devoted  to  the  chivalry  he  portrays,  and 
his  tongue  is  the  faithful  spokesmen  of  his  heart. 

John  W.  Hales. 


How  Arthur  by  the  mean  of  Merlin  gat  Excalibur  his 
SWORD  OF  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Right  so  the  king  and  he  departed,  and  went  until  an  hermit 
that  was  a  good  man  and  a  great  leach.  So  the  hermit  searched 
all  his  wounds  and  gave  him  good  salves  ;  so  the  king  was  there 
three  days,  and  then  were  his  wounds  well  amended  that  he 
might  ride  and  go,  and  so  departed.  And  as  they  rode,  Arthur 
said,  I  have  no  sword.  No  force,  said  Merlin,  hereby  is  a  sword 
that  shall  be  yours  and  I  may.  So  they  rode  till  they  came  to  a 
lake,  the  which  was  a  fair  water  and  broad,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  lake  Arthur  was  ware  of  an  arm  clothed  in  white  samite,  that 
held  a  fair  sword  in  that  hand.  Lo,  said  Merlin,  yonder  is  that 
sword  that  I  spake  of.  With  that  they  saw  a  damsel  going  upon 
the  lake  :  What  damsel  is  that  ?  said  Arthur.  That  is  the  Lady 
of  the  lake,  said  Merlin  ;  and  within  that  lake  is  a  rock,  and 
therein  is  as  fair  a  place  as  any  on  earth,  and  richly  beseen,  and 
this  damsel  will  come  to  you  anon,  and  then  speak  ye  fair  to  her 
that  she  will  give  you  that  sword.  Anon  withal  came  the  damsel 
unto  Arthur  and  saluted  him,  and  he  her  again.  Damsel,  said 
Arthur,  what  sword  is  that,  that  yonder  the  arm  holdeth  above 
the  water  ?  I  would  it  were  mine,  for  I  have  no  sword.  Sir 
Arthur  king,  said  the  damsel,  that  sword  is  mine,  and  if  ye  will 
give  me  a  gift  when  I  ask  it  you,  ye  shall  have  it.  By  my  faith, 
said  Arthur,  I  will  give  you  what  gift  ye  will  ask.  Well,  said  the 
damsel,  go  ye  into  yonder  barge  and  row  yourself  to  the  sword, 
and  take  it  and  the  scabbard  with  you,  and  I  will  ask  my  gift 
when  I  see  my  time.  So  Sir  Arthur  and  Merlin  alight,  and  tied 
their  horses  to  two  trees,  and  so  they  went  into  the  ship,  and 
when  they  came  to  the  sword  that  the  hand  held,  Sir  Arthur  took 
it  up  by  the  handles,  and  took  it  with  him.  And  the  arm  and 
the  hand  went  under  the  water  ;  and  so  they  cime  unto  the  land 
and  rode  forth.      And  then  Sir  Arthur  saw  a  rich  pavilion :   What 

63 


64  ENGLISH  PROSE 


signifieth  yonder  pavilion  ?  It  is  the  knight's  pavilion,  said 
Merlin,  that  ye  fought  with  last,  Sir  Pellinore,  but  he  is  out,  he 
is  not  there  ;  he  hath  ado  with  a  knight  of  yours,  that  hight 
Egglame,  and  they  have  fought  together,  but  at  the  last  Egglame 
fled,  and  else  he  had  been  dead,  and  he  hath  chased  him  even  to 
Carlion,  and  we  shall  meet  with  him  anon  in  the  high  way.  That 
is  well  said,  said  Arthur,  now  have  I  a  sword,  now  will  I  wage 
battle  with  him  and  be  avenged  on  him.  Sir,  ye  shall  not  so, 
said  Merlin,  for  the  knight  is  weary  of  fighting  and  chasing, 
so  that  ye  shall  have  no  worship  to  have  ado  with  him  ;  also  he 
will  not  lightly  be  matched  of  one  knight  living  ;  and  therefore  it 
is  my  counsel,  let  him  pass,  for  he  shall  do  you  good  service  in 
short  time,  and  his  sons  after  his  days.  Also  ye  shall  see  that 
day  in  short  space,  ye  shall  be  right  glad  to  givfe  him  your  sister 
to  wed.  When  I  see  him,  I  will  do  as  ye  advise  me,  said  Arthur. 
Then  Sir  Arthur  looked  on  the  sword,  and  liked  it  passing  well. 
Whether  liketh  you  better,  said  Merlin,  the  sword  or  the  scab- 
bard ?  Me  liketh  better  the  sword,  said  Arthur.  Ye  are  more 
unwise,  said  Merlin,  for  the  scabbard  is  worth  ten  of  the  sword 
for  while  ye  have  the  scabbard  upon  you  ye  shall  never  loose  no 
blood,  be  ye  never  so  sore  wounded,  therefore  keep  well  the 
scabbard  always  with  you.  So  they  rode  unto  Carlion,  and  by  the 
way  they  met  with  Sir  Pellinore  ;  but  Merlin  had  done  such  a 
craft  that  Pellinore  saw  not  Arthur,  and  he  passed  by  without  any 
words.  I  marvel,  said  Atthur,  that  the  knight  would  not  speak. 
Sir,  said  Merlin,  he  saw  you  not,  for  and  he  had  seen  you  ye  had 
not  lightly  departed.  So  they  came  unto  Carlion,  whereof  his 
knights  were  passing  glad.  And  when  they  heard  of  his  adven- 
tures they  marvelled  that  he  would  jeopard  his  person  so  alone. 
But  all  men  of  worship  said  it  was  merry  to  be  under  such  a 
chieftain  that  would  put  his  person  in  adventure  as  other  poor 
knights  did. 


How  TIDINGS  CAME  TO  ARTHUR  THAT  KING  RVONS  HAD  OVER- 
COME ELEVEN  KINGS,  AND  HOW  HE  DESIRED  ARTHUR'S 
BEARD  TO  TRIM  HIS  MANTLE. 

This  meanwhile  came  a  messager  from  king  Ryons  of  North 
Wales,  and  king  he  was  of  all  Ireland,  and  of  many  Isles.  And 
this  was   his   message,  greeting  well   king  Arthur   in   this   manner 


MALORY  65 

wise,  saying  that  king  Ryons  had  discomfited  and  overcome 
eleven  kings,  and  every  each  of  them  did  him  homage,  and  that 
was  this— they  gave  him  their  beards  clean  flayed  ofif,  as  much  as 
tliere  was  ;  wherefore  the  messager  came  for  king  Arthur's  beard. 
For  king  Ryons  had  trimmed  a  mantle  with  kings'  beards,  and 
there  lacked  one  place  of  the  mantle,  wherefore  he  sent  for  his 
beard,  or  else  he  would  enter  into  his  lands,  and  burn  and  slay, 
and  never  leave  till  he  have  the  head  and  the  beard.  Well,  sgid 
Arthur,  thou  hast  said  thy  message,  the  which  is  the  most 
villainous  and  lewdest  message  that  ever  man  heard  sent  unto  a 
king  ;  also  thou  mayest  see  my  beard  is  full  young  yet  to  make 
a  trimming  of  it.  But  tell  thou  thy  king  this  :  I  owe  him  none 
homage,  nor  none  of  mine  elders  ;  but  or  it  be  long  he  shall  do 
me  homage  on  both  his  knees,  or  else  he  shall  lose  his  head,  by 
the  faith  of  my  body,  for  this  is  the  most  shamefulest  message 
that  ever  I  heard  speak  of.  I  see  well  thy  king  met  never  yet 
with  worshipful  man,  but  tell  him  I  will  have  his  head  without  he 
do  me  homage.  Then  the  messenger  departed.  Now  is  there 
any  here,  said  Arthur,  that  knoweth  king  Ryons  ?  Then  answered 
a  knight  that  hight  Naram,  Sir,  I  know  the  king  well  ;  he  is  a 
passing  good  man  of  his  body  as  few  be  living,  and  a  passing 
proud  man  ;  and.  Sir,  doubt  ye  not  he  will  make  war  on  you  with 
a  mighty  puissance.  Well,  said  Arthur,  I  shall  ordain  for  him  in 
short  time. 


How  Balin  met  with  his  brother  Balan,  and  how  each 
OF    them    slew    other    unknown,    till    they    were 

.WOUNDED  to  death. 

Then  afore  him  he  saw  come  riding  out  of  a  castle  a  knight,  and 
his  horse  trapped  all  red,  and  himself  in  the  same  colour.  When 
this  knight  in  the  red  beheld  Balin,  him  thought  it  should  be  his 
brother  Balin  because  of  his  two  swords,  but  because  he  knew  not 
his  shield,  he  deemed  it  was  not  he.  And  so  they  aventred  their 
spears,  and  came  marvellously  fast  together,  and  they  smote  each 
other  in  the  shields,  but  their  spears  and  their  course  were  so  big 
that  it  bare  down  horse  and  man,  that  they  lay  both  in  a  swoon. 
But  Balin  was  bruised  sore  with  the  fall  of  his  horse,  for  he  was 
weary  of  travel.  And  Balan  was  the  first  that  rose  on  foot  and 
drew  his  sword,  and  went  toward  Balin,  and  he  arose  and  went 
VOL.  I  ,  F 


66  ENGLISH  PROSE 


against  him,  but  Balan  smote  Balin  first,  and  he  put  up  his  shield, 
and  smote  him  through  the  shield  and  cleft  his  helm.  Then 
Balin  smote  him  again  with  that  unhappy  sword,  and  well  nigh 
had  felled  his  brother  Balan,  and  so  they  fought  there  together 
till  their  breaths  failed.  Then  Balin  looked  up  to  the  castle,  and 
saw  the  towers  stand  full  of  ladies.  So  they  went  to  battle  again, 
and  wounded  each  other  dolefully,  and  then  they  breathed  oft- 
times,  and  so  went  unto  battle,  that  all  the  place  there  as  they 
fought  was  blood  red.  And  at  that  time  there  was  none  of  them 
both  but  they  had  either  smitten  other  seven  great  wounds,  so 
that  the  least  of  them  might  have  been  the  death  of  the  mightiest 
giant  in  this  world.  Then  they  went  to  battle  again  so  marvel- 
lously that  doubt  it  was  to  hear  of  that  battle  for  the  great  blood- 
shedding,  and  their  hauberks  unnailed,  that  naked  they  were  on 
every  side.  At  the  last  Balan,  the  younger  brother,  withdrew  him 
a  little  and  laid  him  down.  Then  said  Balin  le  Savage,  What 
knight  art  thou  ?  for  or  now  I  found  never  no  knight  that  matched 
me.  My  name  is,  said  he,  Balan,  brother  to  the  good  knight 
Balin.  Alas  !  said  Balin,  that  ever  I  should  see  this  day.  And 
therewith  he  fell  backward  in  a  swoon.  Then  Balan  went  on  all 
four  feet  and  hands,  and  put  off  the  helm  of  his  brother,  and 
might  not  know  him  by  the  visage  it  was  so  full  hewen  and  bled  ; 
but  when  he  awoke  he  said,  O  Balan,  my  brother,  thou  hast  slain 
me  and  I  thee,  wherefore  all  the  wide  world  shall  speak  of  us 
both.  Alas  !  said  Balan,  that  ever  I  saw  this  day,  that  through 
mishap  I  might  not  know  you,  for  I  espied  well  your  two  swords, 
but  because  ye  had  another  shield  I  deemed  you  had  been 
another  knight.  Alas  !  said  Balin,  all  that  made  an  unhappy 
knight  in  the  castle,  for  he  caused  me  to  leave  mine  own  shield 
to  our  both's  destruction,  and  if  I  might  live  I  would  destroy  that 
castle  for  ill  customs.  That  were  well  done,  said  Balan,  for  I 
had  never  grace  to  depart  from  them  since  that  I  came  hither, 
for  here  it  happed  me  to  slay  a  knight  that  kept  this  island,  and 
since  might  I  never  depart,  and  no  more  should  ye  brother,  and 
ye  might  have  slain  me  as  ye  have,  and  escaped  yourself  with  the 
life.  Right  so  came  the  lady  of  the  tower  with  four  knights  and 
six  ladies  and  six  yeomen  unto  them,  and  there  she  heard  how 
they  made  their  moan  either  to  other,  and  said,  We  came  both 
out  of  one  womb,  and  so  shall  we  lye  both  in  one  pit.  So  Balan 
prayed  the  lady  of  her  gentleness,  for  his  true  service  that  she 
would  bury  them  both  in  that  same  place  there  the  battle  was 


MA  LOU  V  67 

done.  And  she  granted  them  with  weeping  it  should  be  done 
richly  in  the  best  manner.  Now  will  ye  send  for  a  priest,  that 
we  may  receive  our  sacrament  and  receive  the  blessed  body  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Yea,  said  the  lady,  it  shall  be  done. 
And  so  she  sent  for  a  priest  and  gave  them  their  rites.  Now, 
said  Balin,  when  we  are  buried  in  one  tomb,  and  the  mention 
made  over  us  how  two  brethren  slew  each  other,  there  will  never 
good  knight  nor  good  man  see  our  tomb  but  they  will  pray  for 
our  souls.  And  so  all  the  ladies  and. gentlewomen  wept  for  pity. 
Then,  anon  Balan  died,  but  Balin  died  not  till  the  midnight  after, 
and  so  were  they  buried  both,  and  the  lady  let  make  a  mention 
of  Balan  how  he  was  there  slain  by  his  brother's  hands,  but  she 
knew  not  Balin's  name. 


How  Sir  Tristram  demanded  La  Beale  Isoud  for  king 
Mark,  and  how  Sir  Tristram  and  Isoud  drank  the 

LOVE    drink. 

Then  upon  a  day  king  Anguish  asked  Sir  Tristram  why  he  asked 
not  his  boon,  for  whatsoever  he  had  promised  him  he  should  have 
it  without  fail.  Sir,  said  Sir  Tristram,  now  is  it  time,  this  is  all 
that  I  will  desire,  that  ye  will  give  me  La  Beale  Isoud  your 
daughter,  not  for  myself,  but  for  mine  uncle  king  Mark,  that  shall 
have  her  to  wife,  for  so  have  I  promised  him.  Alas,  said  the 
king,  I  had  lever  than  all  the  land  that  1  have  ye  would  wed  her 
yourself  Sir,  and  I  did,  then  were  I  shamed  for  ever  in  this 
world,  and  false  of  my  promise.  Therefore,  said  Sir  Tristram,  I 
pray  you  hold  your  promise  that  ye  promised  me,  for  this  is  my 
desire,  that  ye  will  give  me  La  Beale  Isoud  to  go  with  me  into 
Cornwall,  for  to  be  wedded  to  king  Mark  mine  uncle.  As  for 
that,  said  king  Anguish,  ye  shall  have  her  with  you,  to  do  with 
her  what  it  please  you,  that  is  for  to  say  if  that  ye  list  to  wed  her 
yourself,  that  is  to  me  levest  :  and  if  ye  will  give  her  unto  king 
Mark  your  uncle,  that  is  in  your  choice. 

So  to  make  a  short  conclusion.  La  Beale  Isoud  was  made 
ready  to  go  with  Sir  Tristram,  and  dame  Bragwaine  went  with 
her  for  her  chief  gentlewoman,  with  many  other.  Then  the 
queen,  Isoud's  mother,  gave  to  her  and  dame  Bragwaine,  her 
daughter's  gentlewoman,  and  unto  Gouvernail,  a  drink,  and 
charged  them  that  what  day  king  Mark  should  wed,  that  same 


68  ENGLISH  PROSE 


day  they  should  give  him  that  drink,  so  that  king  Mark  should 
drink  to  La  Beale  Isoud  ;  and  then,  said  the  queen,  I  undertake 
either  shall  love  other  the  days  of  their  life.  So  this  drink  was 
given  unto  dame  Bragwaine  and  unto  Gouvernail.  And  then 
anon  Sir  Tristram  took  the  sea  and  La  Beale  Isoud  ;  and  when 
they  were  in  their  cabin,  it  happed  so  that  they  were  thirsty,  and 
they  saw  a  little  flacket  of  gold  stand  by  them,  and  it  seemed  by 
the  colour  and  the  taste  that  it  was  noble  wine.  Then  Sir 
Tristram  took  the  flacket  io  his  hand,  and  said.  Madam  Isoud, 
here  is  the  best  drink  that  ever  ye  drank,  that  dame  Bragwaine 
your  maiden,  and  Gouvernail  my  servant,  have  kept  for  them- 
selves. Then  they  laughed  and  made  good  cheer,  and  either 
drank  to  other  freely,  and  they  thought  never  drink  that  ever  they 
drank  to  other  was  so  sweet  nor  so  good.  But  by  that  their  drink 
was  in  their  bodies,  they  loved  either  other  so  well  that  never 
their  love  departed  for  weal  neither  for  woe.  And  thus  it  happed 
the  love  first  betwi.xt  Sir  Tristram  and  La  Beale  Isoud,  the  which 
love  never  departed  the  days  of  their  life. 


How  AFTER  THAT  KING  ARTHUR  HAD  TIDINGS  HE  RETURNED 
AND  CAME  TO  DOVER,  WHERE  SiR  MORDRED  MET  HIM  TO 
LET  HIS  LANDING,  AND  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  SiR  GAWAINE. 

And  so  as  Sir  Mordred  was  at  Dover  with  his  host,  there  came 
king  Arthur  with  a  great  navy  of  ships,  galleys,  and  carracks. 
And  there  was  Sir  Mordred  ready  awaiting  upon  his  landage,  to 
let  his  own  father  to  land  upon  the  land  that  he  was  king  over. 
Then  there  was  launching  of  great  boats  and  small,  and  full  of 
noble  men  of  arms,  and  there  was  much  slaughter  of  gentle 
knights,  and  many  a  full  bold  baron  was  laid  full  low  on  both 
parties.  But  king  Arthur  was  so  courageous,  that  there  might 
no  manner  of  knights  let  him  to  land,  and  his  knights  fiercely 
followed  him.  And  so  they  landed,  maugre  Sir  Mordred  and  all 
his  power,  and  put  Sir  Mordred  aback,  that  he  fled  and  all  his 
people.  So  when  this  battle  was  done,  king  Arthur  let  bury  his 
people  that  were  dead,  and  then  was  the  noble  knight  Sir  Gawaine 
found  in  a  great  boat  lying  more  than  half  dead.  When  Sir 
Arthur  wist  that  Sir  Gawaine  was  laid  so  low,  he  went  unto  him, 
and  there  the  king  made  sorrow  out  of  measure,  and  took  Sir 
Gawaine  in  his  arms,  and  thrice  he  there  swooned.     And  when  he 


MALORY  69 

awaked  he  said,  Alas,  Sir  Gawaine,  my  sister's  son,  here  now  thou 
liest,  the  man  in  the  world  that  I  loved  most,  and  now  is  my  joy 
gone :  for  now,  my  nephew  Sir  Gawaine,  I  will  discover  me  unto 
your  person  ;  in  Sir  Launcelot  and  you  I  most  had  my  joy,  and 
mine  affiance,  and  now  have  I  lost  my  joy  of  you  both,  wherefore 
all  mine  earthly  joy  is  gone  from  me.  Mine  uncle  king  Arthur, 
said  Sir  Gawaine,  wit  you  well,  my  death  day  is  come,  and  all  is 
through  mine  own  hastiness  and  wilfulness,  for  I  am  smitten  upon 
the  old  wound  the  which  Sir  Launcelot  gave  me,  on  the  which  I 
feel  well  I  must  die,  and  had  Sir  Launcelot  been  with  you  as  he 
was,  this  unhappy  war  had  never  begun,  and  of  all  this  am  I 
causer,  for  Sir  Launcelot  and  his  blood  through  their  prowess 
held  all  your  cankered  enemies  in  subjection  and  danger  :  and 
now,  said  Sir  Gawaine,  ye  shall  miss  Sir  Launcelot.  But,  alas,  I 
would  not  accord  with  him,  and  therefore,  said  Sir  Gawaine,  I 
pray  you,  fair  uncle,  that  I  may  have  paper,  pen,  and  ink,  that  I 
may  write  to  Sir  Launcelot  a  schedule  with  mine  own  hands. 
And  then  when  paper  and  ink  was  brought,  then  Gawaine  was  set 
up  weakly  by  king  Arthur,  for  he  was  shriven  a  little  tofore,  and 
then  he  wrote  thus,  as  the  French  book  maketh  mention, — Unto 
Sir  Launcelot,  flower  of  all  noble  knights  that  ever  I  heard  of,  or 
saw  by  my  days,  I  Sir  Gawaine,  king  Lot's  son,  of  Orkney,  sister's 
son  unto  the  noble  king  Arthur,  send  thee  greeting,  and  let  thee 
have  knowledge,  that  the  tenth  day  of  May  I  was  smitten  upon 
the  old  wound  that  thou  gavest  me  afore  the  city  of  Benwick,  and 
through  the  same  wound  that  thou  gavest  me  I  am  come  to  my 
death-day.  And  I  will  that  all  the  world  wit  that  I,  Sir  Gawaine, 
knight  of  the  Table  Round,  sought  my  death,  and  not  through 
thy  deserving,  but  it  was  mine  own  seeking,  wherefore  I  beseech 
thee.  Sir  Launcelot,  to  return  again  unto  this  realm,  and  see  my 
tomb,  and  pray  some  prayer,  more  or  less,  for  my  soul.  And  this 
same  day  that  I  wrote  this  schedule,  I  was  hurt  to  the  death  in 
the  same  wound,  the  which  I  had  of  thy  hand.  Sir  Launcelot. 
For  of  a  more  nobler  man  might  I  not  be  slain.  Also,  Sir 
Launcelot,  for  all  the  love  that  ever  was  betwixt  us,  make  no 
tarrying,  but  come  over  the  sea  in  all  haste,  that  thou  mayest  with 
thy  noble  knights  rescue  that  noble  king  that  made  thee  knight, 
that  is  my  lord  Arthur,  for  he  is  fully  straitly  bestad  with  a  false 
traitor,  that  is  my  half  brother  Sir  Mordred,  and  he  hath  let  crown 
him  king,  and  would  have  wedded  my  lady  queen  Guenever,  and 
so  had  he  done,  had  she  not  put  herself  in  the  tower  of  London. 


70  ENGLISH  PROSE 


And  so  the  tenth  day  of  May  last  past,  my  lord  Arthur  and  we  all 
landed  upon  them  at  Dover,  and  there  we  put  that  false  traitor 
Sir  Mordred  to  flight,  and  there  it  misfortuned  me  to  be  stricken 
upon  thy  stroke,  and  at  the  date  of  this  letter  was  written  but 
two  hours  and  an  half  afore  my  death,  written  with  mine  own 
hand,  and  so  subscribed  with  part  of  my  heart's  blood.  And  I 
require  thee,  most  famous  knight  of  the  world,  that  thou  wilt 
see  my  tomb. — And  then  Sir  Gawaine  wept,  and  king  Arthur 
wept,  and  then  they  swooned  both.  And  when  they  awaked 
both,  the  king  made  Sir  Gawaine  to  receive  his  Saviour.  And 
then  Sir  Gawaine  prayed  the  king  to  send  for  Sir  Launcelot,  and 
to  cherish  him  above  all  other  knights.  And  so  at  the  hour  of 
noon,  Sir  Gawaine  yielded  up  the  spirit.  And  then  the  king  let 
inter  him  in  a  chapel  within  Dover  castle  ;  and  there  yet  all  men 
may  see  the  skull  of  him,  and  the  same  wound  is  seen  that  Sir 
Launcelot  gave  him  in  battle.  Then  was  it  told  king  Arthur  that 
Sir  Mordred  had  pitched  a  new  field  upon  Barham  Down.  And 
upon  the  morn  the  king  rode  thither  to  him,  and  there  was  a 
great  battle  betwixt  them,  and  much  people  were  slain  on  both 
parties.  But  at  the  last  Sir  Arthur's  party  stood  best,  and  Sir 
Mordred  and  his  party  fled  unto  Canterbury. 

How    BY    MISADVENTURE    OF    AN     ADDER    THE    BATTLE    BEGAN, 

WHERE  Mordred  was  slain,  and  Arthur  hurt  to  the 

DEATH. 

Then  were  they  condescended  that  king  Arthur  and  Sir  Mordred 
should  meet  betwixt  both  their  hosts,  and  every  each  of  them 
should  bring  fourteen  persons.  And  they  came  with  this  word 
unto  king  Arthur.  Then  said  he,  I  am  glad  that  this  is  done. 
And  so  he  went  into  the  field.  And  when  Arthur  should  depart, 
he  warned  all  his  host  that  and  they  see  any  sword  drawn.  Look 
ye  come  on  fiercely,  and  slay  that  traitor  Sir  Mordred,  for  I  in  no 
wise  trust  him.      In  like  wise  Sir  Mordred  warned  his  host  that, 

And  ye  see  any  sword  drawn,  look  that  ye  come  on  fiercely, 

and  so  slay  all  that  ever  before  you  standeth  :  for  in  no  wise  I 
will  not  trust  for  this  treaty  :  for  I  know  well  my  father  will  be 
avenged  upon  me.  And  so  they  met  as  their  pointment  was,  and 
so  they  were  agreed  and  accorded  thoroughly  :  and  wine  was 
fetched,  and  they  drank.      Right  so  came  an  adder  out  of  a  little 


MALORY  71 

heath  bush,  and  it  stung  a  knight  on  the  foot.  And  when  the 
knight  felt  him  stungen,  he  looked  down  and  saw  the  adder,  and 
then  he  drew  his  sword  to  slay  the  adder,  and  thought  of  none 
other  harm.  And  when  the  host  on  both  parties  saw  that  sword 
drawn,  then  they  blew  beames,  trumpets,  and  horns,  and  shouted 
grimly.  And  so  both  hosts  dressed  them  together.  And  king 
Arthur  took  his  horse,  and  said,  Alas  this  unhappy  day,  and  so 
rode  to  his  parly  ;  and  Sir  Mordred  in  likewise.  And  never  was 
there  seen  a  more  dolefuller  battle  in  no  christian  land.  For 
there  was  but  rushing  and  riding,  foining  and  striking,  and  many 
a  grim  word  was  there  spoken  either  to  other,  and  many  a  deadly 
stroke.  But  ever  king  Arthur  rode  throughout  the  battle  of  Sir 
Mordred  many  times,  and  did  full  nobly  as  a  noble  king  should  ; 
and  at  all  times  he  fainted  never.  And  Sir  Mordred  that  day  put 
him  in  devoir,  and  in  great  peril.  And  thus  they  fought  all  the 
long  day,  and  never  stinted,  till  the  noble  knights  were  laid  to  the 
cold  ground,  and  ever  they  fought  still,  till  it  was  near  night,  and 
by  that  time  was  there  an  hundred  thousand  laid  dead  upon  the 
down.  Then  was  Arthur  wroth  out  of  measure,  when  he  saw  his 
people  so  slain  from  him.  Then  the  king  looked  about  him,  and 
then  was  he  ware  of  all  his  host,  and  of  all  his  good  knights,  were 
left  no  more  on  live  but  two  knights,  that  was  Sir  Lucan  de 
butlere,  and  his  brother  Sir  Bediveie  :  and  they  full  were  sore 
wounded.  Jesu  mercy,  said  the  king,  where  are  all  my  noble 
knights  becomen.  Alas  that  ever  I  should  see  this  doleful  day. 
For  now,  said  Arthur,  I  am  come  to  mine  end.  But  would  to 
God  that  I  wist  where  were  that  traitor  Sir  Mordred,  that  hath 
caused  all  this  mischief.  Then  was  king  Arthur  ware  where  Sir 
Mordred  leaned  upon  his  sword  among  a  great  heap  of  dead  men. 
Now  give  me  my  spear,  said  Arthur  unto  Sir  Lucan,  for  yonder 
I  have  espied  the  traitor  that  all  this  woe  hath  wrought.  Sir,  let 
him  be,  said  Sir  Lucan,  for  he  is  unhappy  :,  and  if  ye  pass  this 
unhappy  day,  ye  shall  be  right  well  revenged  upon  him.  Good 
lord,  remember  ye  of  your  night's  dream,  and  what  the  spirit  of 
Sir  Gawaine  told  you  this  night,  yet  God  of  his  great  goodness 
hath  preserved  you  hitherto.  Therefore,  for  God's  sake,  my  lord, 
leave  off  by  this.  For  blessed  be  God  ye  have  won  the  field  :  for 
here  we  be  three  on  live,  and  with  Sir  Mordred  is  none  on  live. 
And  if  ye  leave  off  now,  this  wicked  day  of  destiny  is  past.  Tide 
me  death,  betide  me  life,  saith  the  king,  now  I  see  him  yonder 
alone,  he  shall  never  escape  mine  hands,  for  at  a  better  avail  $hall 


72  ENGLISH  PROSE 


I  never  have  him.  God  speed  you  well,  said  Sir  Bedivere.  Then 
the  king  gat  his  spear  in  both  his  hands,  and  ran  toward  Sir 
Mordred,  crying,  Traitor,  now  is  thy  death  day  come.  And  when 
Sir  Mordred  heard  Sir  Arthur,  he  ran  until  him  with  his  sword 
drawn  in  his  hand.  And  then  king  Arthur  smote  Sir  Mordred 
under  the  shield,  with  a  foin  of  bis  spear  throughout  the  body 
more  than  a  fathom.  And  when  Sir  Mordred  felt  that  he  had  his 
death's  wound,  he  thrust  himself,  with  the  might  that  he  had,  up 
to  the  bur  of  king  Arthur's  spear.  And  right  so  he  smote  his 
father  Arthur  with  his  sword  holden  in  both  his  hands,  on  the  side 
of  the  head,  that  the  sword  pierced  the  helmet  and  the  brain-pan, 
and  therewithal  Sir  Mordred  fell  stark  dead  to  the  earth.  And 
the  noble  Arthur  fell  in  a  swoon  to  the  earth,  and  there  he  swooned 
oft-times.  And  Sir  Lucan  de  butlere  and  Sir  Bedivere  oft-times 
heaved  him  up,  and  so  weakly  they  led  him  betwixt  them  both  to 
a  little  chapel  not  far  from  the  sea  side.  And  when  the  king  was 
there,  he  thought  him  well  eased.  Then  heard  they  people  cry  in 
the  field.  Now  go  thou.  Sir  Lucan,  said  the  king,  and  do  me  to 
wit  what  betokens  that  noise  in  the  field.  So  Sir  Lucan  departed, 
for  he  was  grievously  wounded  in  many  places.  And  so  as  he 
went,  he  saw  and  hearkened  by  the  moonlight,  how  the  pillers  and 
robbers  were  come  into  the  field  to  pill  and  to  rob  many  a  full 
noble  knight  of  broaches  and  beads,  of  many  a  good  ring,  and  of 
many  a  rich  jewel  ;  and  who  that  were  not  dead  all  out,  there 
they  slew  them  for  their  harness  and  their  riches.  When  Sir 
Lucan  understood  this  work,  he  came  to  the  king  as  soon  as  he 
might,  and  told  him  all  what  he  had  heard  and  seen.  Therefore 
by  mine  advice,  said  Sir  Lucan,  it  is  best  that  we  bring  you  to 
some  town.      I  would  it  were  so,  said  the  king, — 


How    KING    Arthur    commanded    to    cast     his    sword 

EXCALIBUR       INTO       THE      WATER,       AND       HOW      HE      WAS 
DELIVERED  TO  LADIES  IN  A  BARGE. 

But  I  may  not  stand,  my  head  works  so.  Ah,  Sir  Launcelot, 
said  king  Arthur,  this  day  have  I  sore  missed  thee.  Alas,  that 
ever  I  was  against  thee,  for  now  have  I  my  death,  whereof  Sir 
Gawaine  me  warned  in  my  dream.  Then  Sir  Lucan  took  up  the 
king  the  one  part,  and  Sir  Bedivere  the  other  part,  and  in  the 
lifting,  the  king  swooned,  and  Sir  Lucan  fell  in  a  swoon  with  the 


MALORY  73 

lift,  tliat  the  part  of  his  bowels  fell  out  of  his  body,  and  therewith 
the  noble  knight's  heart  brast.  And  when  king  Arthur  came  to 
himself  again,  he  beheld  Sir  Lucan  how  he  lay  foaming  at  the 
mouth,  and  part  of  his  bowels  lay  at  his  feet.  Alas,  said  the 
king,  this  is  unto  me  a  full  heavy  sight  to  see  this  noble  duke  so 
die  for  my  sake,  for  he  would  have  holpen  me  that  had  more  need 
of  help  than  I.  Alas,  he  would  not  complain  him,  his  heart  was 
so  set  to  help  me.  Now  Jesu  have  mercy  upon  his  soul.  Then 
Sir  Bedivere  wept  for  the  death  of  his  brother.  Leave  this 
mourning  and  weeping,  said  the  king,  for  all  this  will  not  avail 
me  :  for,  wit  thou  well,  and  I  might  live  myself  the  death  of  Sir 
Lucan  would  grieve  me  evermore  ;  but  my  time  hieth  fast,  said 
the  king.  Therefore,  said  Arthur,  take  thou  Excalibur,  my  good 
sword,  and  go  with  it  to  yonder  water  side,  and  when  thou  comest 
there,  I  charge  thee  throw  my  sword  in  that  water,  and  come 
again,  and  tell  me  what  thou  there  seest.  My  lord,  said  Bedi- 
vere, your  commandment  shall  be  done,  and  lightly  bring  you 
word  again.  So  Sir  Bedivere  departed,  and  by  the  way  he 
beheld  that  noble  sword,  that  the  pommel  and  haft  were  all  of 
precious  stones,  and  then  he  said  to  himself,  If  I  throw  this  rich 
sword  in  the  water,  thereof  shall  never  come  good,  but  harm  and 
loss.  And  then  Sir  Bedivere  hid  Excalibur  under  a  tree.  And 
as  soon  as  he  might  he  came  again  unto  the  king,  and  said  he 
had  been  at  the  water,  and  had  thrown  the  sword  into  the  water. 
What  sawest  thou  there  ?  said  the  king.  Sir,  he  said,  I  saw 
nothing  but  waves  and  winds.  That  is  untruly  said  of  thee,  said 
the  king  ;  therefore  go  thou  lightly  agaii},  and  do  my  command 
as  thou  art  to  me  lief  and  dear,  spare  not,  but  throw  it  in.  Then 
Sir  Bedivere  returned  again,  and  took  the  sword  in  his  hand  ; 
and  'then  him  thought  sin  and  shame  to  throw  away  that  noble 
sword  ;  and  so  eft  he  hid  the  sword,  and  returned  again,  and 
told  to  the  king  that  he  had  been  at  the  water,  and  done  his  com- 
mandment. What  saw  thou  there  ?  said  the  king.  Sir,  he  said, 
I  saw  nothing  but  the  waters  wap  and  the  waves  wan.  Ah 
traitor,  untrue,  said  king  Arthur,  now  hast  thou  betrayed  me 
twice.  Who  would  have  wend  that  thou  that  hast  been  to  me  so 
lief  and  dear,  and  thou  art  named  a  noble  knight,  and  would 
betray  me  for  the  riches  of  the  sword.  But  now  go  again  lightly, 
for  thy  long  tarrying  putteth  me  in  great  jeopardy  of  my  life,  for 
I  have  taken  cold.  And  but  if  thou  do  now  as  I  bid  thee,  if  ever 
I  may  see  thee,  I  shall  slay  thee  with  mine  own  hands,  for  thou 


74  ENGLISH  PROSE 


wouldest  for  my  rich  sword  see  me  dead.  Then  Sir  Bedivere 
departed,  and  went  to  the  sword,  and  Hghtly  took  it  up,  and 
went  to  the  water  side,  and  there  he  bound  the  girdle  about  the 
hilts,  and  then  he  threw  the  sword  as  far  into  the  water  as  he 
might,  and  there  came  an  arm  and  an  hand  above  the  water,  and 
met  it,  and  caught  it,  and  so  shook  it  thrice  and  brandished,  and 
then  vanished  away  the  hand  with  the  sword  in  the  water.  So 
Sir  Bedivere  came  again  to  the  king,  and  told  him  what  he  saw. 
Alas,  said  the  king,  help  me  hence,  for  I  dread  me  I  have  tarried 
over  long.  Then  Sir  Bedivere  took  the  king  upon  his  bacl^  and 
so  went  with  him  to  that  water  side.  And  when  they  were  at  the 
water  side,  even  fast  by  the  bank  hoved  a  little  barge,  with  many 
fair  ladies  in  it,  and  among  them  all  was  a  queen,  and  all  they 
had  black  hoods,  and  all  they  wept  and  shrieked  when  they  saw 
king  Arthur.  Now  put  me  into  the  barge,  said  the  king  :  and  so 
he  did  softly.  And  there  received  him  three  queens  with  great 
mourning,  and  so  they  set  him  down,  and  in  one  of  their  laps 
king  Arthur  laid  his  head,  and  then  tliat  queen  said.  Ah,  dear 
brother,  why  have  ye  tarried  so  long  from  me  ?  Alas,  this  wound 
on  your  head  hath  caught  over  much  cold.  And  so  then  they 
rowed  from  the  land  ;  and  Sir  Bedivere  beheld  all  those  ladies  go 
from  him.  Then  Sir  Bedivere  cried.  Ah,  my  lord  Arthur,  what 
shall  become  of  me  now  ye  go  from  me,  and  leave  me  here  alone 
among  mine  enemies.  Comfort  thyself,  said  the  king,  and  do  as 
well  as  thou  mayest,  for  in  me  is  no  trust  for  to  trust  in.  For  I 
will  into  the  vale  of  Avilion,  to  heal  me  of  my  grievous  wound. 
And  if  thou  hear  never  more  of  me,  pray  for  my  soul.  But  ever 
the  queens  and  the  ladies  wept  and  shrieked,  that  it  was  pity  to 
hear.  And  as  soon  as  Sir  Bedivere  had  lost  the  sight  of  the 
barge,  he  wept  and  wailed,  and  so  took  the  forest,  and  so  he 
went  all  that  night,  and  in  the  morning  he  was  ware  betwixt  two 
holts  hoar  of  a  chapel  and  an  hermitage. 


How  Sir  Launcelot  departed  to  seek  the  queen  Guen- 

EVER,   AND  HOW  HE  FOUND  HER  AT  ALMESBURY. 

Then  came  Sir  Bors  de  Ganis,  and  said,  My  lord  Sir  Launcelot, 
what  think  ye  for  to  do,  now  to  ride  in  this  realm  ?  wit  thou  well 
ye  shall  find  few  friends.  Be  as  be  may,  said  Sir  Launcelot,  keep 
you  still  here,  for  I  will  forth  on  my  journey,  and  no  man  nor 


MALORY  75 

child  shall  go  with  me.  So  it  was  no  boot  to  strive,  but  he 
departed  and  rode  westerly,  and  there  he  sought  a  seven  or  eight 
days,  and  at  the  last  he  came  to  a  nunnery,  and  then  was  queen 
Guenever  ware  of  Sir  Launcelot  as  he  walked  in  the  cloister,  and 
when  she  saw  him  there  she  swooned  thrice,  that  all  the  ladies 
and  gentlewomen  had  work  enough  to  hold  the  queen  up.  So 
when  she  might  speak,  she  called  ladies  and  gentlewomen  to  her, 
and  said.  Ye  marvel,  fair  ladies,  why  I  make  this  fare.  Truly, 
she  said,  it  is  for  the  sight  of  yonder  knight  that  yonder  standeth  : 
wherefore,  I  pray  you  all,  call  him  to  me.  When  Sir  Launcelot 
was  brought  to  her,  then  she  said  to  all  the  ladies.  Through  this 
man  and  me  hath  all  this  war  been  wrought,  and  the  death  of  the 
most  noblest  knights  of  the  world  ;  for  through  our  love  that  we 
have  loved  together  is  my  most  noble  lord  slain.  Therefore,  Sir 
Launcelot,  wit  thou  well  I  am  set  in  such  a  plight  to  get  my  soul's 
health  ;  and  yet  I  trust,  through  God's  grace,  that  after  my  death 
to  have  a  sight  of  the  blessed  face  of  Christ,  and  at  doomsday  to 
sit  on  his  right  side,  for  as  sinful  as  ever  I  was  are  saints  in 
heaven.  Therefore,  Sir  Launcelot,  I  require  thee  and  beseech 
thee  heartily,  for  all  the  love  that  ever  was  betwixt  us,  that  thou 
never  see  me  more  in  the  visage  ;  and  I  command  thee  on  God's 
behalf,  that  thou  forsake  my  company,  and  to  thy  kingdom  thou 
turn  again  and  keep  well  thy  realm  from  war  and  wrack.  For  as 
well  as  1  have  loved  thee,  mine  heart  will  not  serve  me  to  see 
thee  ;  for  through  thee  and  me  is  the  flower  of  kings  and  knights 
destroyed.  Therefore,  Sir  Launcelot,  go  to  thy  realm,  and  there 
take  thee  a  wife,  and  live  with  her  with  joy  and  bliss,  and  I  pray 
thee  heartily  pray  for  me  to  our  Lord,  that  I  may  amend  my  mis- 
living.  Now,  sweet  madam,  said  Sir  Launcelot,  would  ye  that  I 
should  return  again  unto  my  country,  and  there  to  wed  a  lady  ? 
Nay,  madam,  wit  you  well  that  shall  I  never  do  ;  for  1  shall  never 
be  so  false  to  you  of  that  I  have  promised,  but  the  same  destiny 
that  ye  have  taken  you  to,  I  will  take  me  unto,  for  to  please  Jesu, 
and  ever  for  you  I  cast  me  specially  to  pray.  If  thou  wilt  do  so, 
said  the  queen,  hold  thy  promise  ;  but  I  may  never  believe  but 
that  thou  wilt  turn  to  the  world  again.  Well,  madam,  said  he,  ye 
say  as  pleaseth  you,  yet  wist  you  me  never  false  of  my  promise, 
and  God  defend  but  I  should  forsake  the  world  as  ye  have  done. 
For  in  the  quest  of  the  Sancgreal  I  had  forsaken  the  vanities  of 
the  world,  had  not  your  lord  been.  And  if  I  had  done  so  at  that 
time   with   my   heart,   will,   and   thought,   I    had   passed   all   the 


76  ENGLISH  PROSE 


knights  that  were  in  the  Sancgreal,  except  Sir  Galahad  my  son. 
And  therefore,  lady,  sithen  ye  have  taken  you  to  perfection,  I 
must  needs  take  me  to  perfection  of  right.  For  I  take  record  of 
God,  in  you  I  have  had  mine  earthly  joy.  And  if  I  had  found 
you  now  so  disposed,  I  had  cast  me  to  have  had  you  into  mine 
own  realm. 


How  Sir  Launcelot  came  to  the  hermitage  where  the 

ARCHBISHOP  OF   CANTERBURY  WAS,  AND   HOW  HE  TOOK  THE 
HABIT  ON  HIM. 

But  sithen  I  find  you  thus  disposed,  I  insure  you  faithfully  I  will 
ever  take  me  to  penance,  and  pray  while  my  life  lasteth,  if  that  I 
may  find  any  hermit  either  grey  or  white  that  will  receive  me. 
Wherefore,  madam,  I  pray  you  kiss  me,  and  never  no  more. 
Nay,  said  the  queen,  that  shall  I  never  do,  but  abstain  you  from 
such  works.  And  they  departed.  But  there  was  never  so  hard 
an  hearted  man,  but  he  would  have  wept  to  see  the  dolour  that 
they  made.  For  there  was  lamentation  as  they  had  been  stung 
with  spears,  and  many  times  they  swooned.  And  the  ladies  bare 
the  queen  to  her  chamber,  and  Sir  Launcelot  awoke,  and  went 
and  took  his  horse,  and  rode  all  that  day  and  all  that  night  in  a 
forest,  weeping.  And  at  the  last  he  was  ware  of  an  hermitage 
and  a  chapel  stood  betwixt  two  cliffs,  and  then  he  heard  a  little 
bell  ring  to  mass,  and  thither  he  rode  and  alight,  and  tied  his 
horse  to  the  gate,  and  heard  mass.  And  he  that  sang  mass  was 
the  bishop  of  Canterbury.  Both  the  bishop  and  Sir  Bedivere 
knew  Sir  Launcelot,  and  they  spake  together  after  mass.  But 
when  Sir  Bedivere  had  told  his  tale  all  whole.  Sir  Launcelot's 
heart  almost  brast  for  sorrow,  and  Sir  Launcelot  threw  his  arms 
abroad,  and  said,  Alas,  who  may  trust  this  world  !  And  then  he 
kneeled  down  on  his  knees,  and  prayed  the  bishop  to  shrive  him 
and  assoil  him.  And  then  he  besought  the  bishop  that  he  might 
he  his  brother.  Then  the  bishop  said,  I  will  gladly  :  and  there 
he  put  an  habit  upon  Sir  Launcelot,  and  there  he  served  God  day 
and  night  with  prayers  and  fastings. 


SIR  JOHN  FORTESCUE 

[Sir  John  Fortescue,  born  c.  1394,  died  c.  1476  (both  dates  are  conjectural), 
was  a  younger  son  of  an  old  county  family  tracing  its  genealogy  to  the 
Conquest.  He  was  educated  at  Exeter  College,  Oxford,  and  afterwards  at 
Lincoln's  Inn.  In  1442  he  was  made  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench  and 
knighted.  From  1445  to  1455  he  was  selected  by  each  Parliament  as  one  of 
the  Triers  of  Petitions,  one  among  many  proofs  of  the  confidence  his  contem- 
poraries felt  in  his  capacity  and  integrity.  In  the  Civil  War  he  took  the 
losing  side,  and  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Towton  was  included  in  the  general 
Act  of  Attainder  (1461)  directed  against  the  Lancastrians.  The  two  following 
years  he  spent  with  the  exiled  royal  family  in  Scotland,  where  he  wrote  a 
series  of  tracts  against  the  Yorkist  claim.  From  Scotland  he  accompanied 
Margaret  to  the  Continent,  where  from  1463  to  1471  he  occupied  himself  in 
writing  [De  l.audibus),  in  educating  the  young  prince,  and  in  efforts  to  bring 
about  a  Lancastrian  restoration.  He  took  a  leading  part  in  the  negotiations 
which  culminated  in  the  alliance  of  Warwick  and  Margaret  in  1470,  and  was 
taken  prisoner  in  the  final  overthrow  of  his  party  at  Tewkesbury.  The  Lan- 
castrian line  being  now  extinct,  he  recognised  Edward  IV.  and  was  allowed 
to  purchase  his  pardon  by  writing  a  formal  refutation  {Declaration  upon 
Certain  Writings)  of  his  earlier  pamphlets  on  the  succession.  He  then 
withdrew  to  Ebrington  and  died  there  at  an  advanced  age  ;  the  last  mention 
of  him  is  in  1476.  The  Lord  Chancellorship  seems  in  his  case  to  have  been 
a  mere  title  conferred  in  exile. 

De  Laudibus  first  printed  1537,  translated  [a)  1573  by  R.  Mulcaster,  and 
reissued  1573,  1575,  1578,  1599,  1609,  1616,  1660,  1672  ;  (b)  by  Francis 
Gregor,  1737,  1741,  1775.  1825.  Governance  of  England,  first  published 
1714  ;  the  revised  and  annotated  edition  by  C.  Plumnier  (1885)  is  a  model  of 
careful  scholarship,  and  a  mine  of  information.  The  other  writings  are  to  be 
found  only  in  Lord  Clermont's  (1869)  sumptuous  and  exhaustive  collection  of 
the  complete  works.] 

Fortescue'S  writings  fall  into  three  divisions — I.  Pamphlets  on 
the  Succession  ;  II.  Constitutional  Treatises  ;  III.  Miscellaneous 
Tracts. 

I.  Pamphlets  on  the  Succession. — Those  on  the  Lancastrian 
side  were  written  in  Scotland,  between  1461  and  1463,  and  the 
two  most  important  are  extant  only  in  Latin,  the  Yorkist  dynasty 

77 


78  ENGLISH  PROSE 


having  stifled  any  translations  which  may  have  existed.  The 
retraction  (r),  on  the  other  hand,  being  meant  for  immediate 
publicity,  was  naturally  written  in  the  vernacular. 

a.  De  titulo  Edivardi  conitis  Marchice. — This  short  piece 
strikes  the  keynote  of  Fortescue's  Lancastrian  pamphlets,  the 
invalidity  of  succession  through  the  female,  which  is  here  supported 
partly  by  general  considerations,  but  mainly  by  an  appeal  to 
historical  precedent. 

b.  De  Naturd  Legis  Natures  et  de  ejus  censurd  in  successione 
regnorum  supreind,  a  bulky  and  dull  treatise  dealing  with  the 
subject  of  female  succession  in  general  without  direct  reference  to 
the  controversy  of  the  day.  The  king  of  Assyria  dies,  and  the 
succession  is  disputed  between  his  brother,  his  daughter,  and  the 
daughter's  son.  In  Part  I.  it  is  argued  that  the  dispute  must  be 
decided  by  the  Law  of  Nature,  which  is  prior  to  all  other  law  and 
of  divine  origin  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  argument  Fortescue 
developes  at  length  his  favourite  classification  of  constitutions  into 
(i.)  Dominium  regale,  absolute  monarchy;  (ii.)  Dominium  politicum, 
republican  government ;  and  (iii.)  that  which  partakes  of  both 
characters  (Dominium  politicum  et  regale)  limited  or  constitu- 
tional monarchy.  This  introductory  part  really  belongs  to  the 
constitutional  section.  In  Part  II.  the  Law  of  Nature  is  installed 
as  judge,  and  the  three  parties  plead  before  her,  the  daughter 
maintaining  the  right  of  female  succession,  the  brother  denying  it 
altogether,  and  the  grandson  advancing  Edward  III.'s  plea  that 
a  woman  though  incapable  of  succeeding  can  transmit  the  right 
of  succession.  After  the  pleadings  have  been  followed  by  "  repli- 
cations," and  these  again  by  "  duplications,"  the  judge  sums  up 
in  favour  of  the  brother  on  the  strength  of  (i.)  the  Scripture  text. 
"  Thou  shalt  be  subject  to  the  man,  and  he  shall  rule  thee,"  which 
puts  the  daughter  out  of  court,  and  (ii.)  the  legal  maxim  "  No  one 
can  transmit  to  another  a  greater  legal  right  than  belongs  to  him- 
self," which  is  equally  fatal  to  the  grandson's  claim.  The  treatise 
closes  with  an  appeal  to  the  Pope  to  enforce  this  decision,  and 
thus  prevent  further  wars  of  succession. 

Three  other  pieces  on  the  same  theme  are  extant,  but  so  brief 
or  so  fragmentary  as  to  be  without  importance. 

{c)  A  declaration  upon  certain  writings  sent  out  of  Scotland 
against  the  King's  title  to  the  Realm  of  England  is  the  title  of 
the  retractation.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue.  A  learned  man 
takes  Fortescue  to  task  for  the  trouble  his  succession  tracts  had 


S//^  JOHN  FOR  TESCUE  79 


caused  in  England,  and  then  proceeds  to  expose  certain  historical 
blunders  contained  in  them.  Retreat  is  thus  ingeniously  veiled  : 
the  author  yields  to  more  accurate  information  inaccessible  to  him 
while  on  the  Continent.  The  historical  arguments  thus  disposed 
of,  there  remains  the  more  formidable  difficulty  involved  in  the 
text,  "  Thou  shalt  be  subject  to  the  man,  and  he  shall  rule  thee." 
The  plea  of  inaccurate  information  could  no  longer  be  urged. 
Fortescue  feels  that  here  at  least  he  can  hardly  draw  back  without 
loss  of  character.  The  learned  man,  however,  reassures  him  ;  it  is 
the  commonest  thing  in  the  world  for  lawyers  to  argue  on  the 
other  side  of  the  question,  and  in  this  case  loyalty  makes  it  a 
duty.  Thus  encouraged  Fortescue  sustains  his  legal  reputation 
by  proving  that  the  rule  is  no  bar  to  female  succession,  inasmuch 
as  every  woman  is  already  subject  to  one  man,  viz.  the  Pope  ! 
The  true  defence  of  his  volte/ace,  however,  is  his  Whiggism. 
The  man  who  wrote  T/ie  Governance  could  not  champion  inde- 
feasible hereditary  right. 

II.  Consiitutiotial  Writings. — On  these  depend  his  permanent 
reputation,  both  as  a  constitutional  lawyer  and  as  a  writer  of 
English.  They  present  in  the  tersest  and  most  uncompromising 
form  the  Lancastrian  theory  of  constitutional  government  ;  and 
so,  when  the  period  of  Tudor  despotism  was  over,  the  constitu- 
tional opposition  which  appealed  to  Conjirmatio  Cartarum  (1297) 
as  the  record  of  its  rights,  went  back  for  its  constitutional  theory 
to  Fortescue.  The  burden  throughout  is  the  superiority  of  limited 
to  absolute  monarchy,  of  which  England  and  France  are  taken  as 
the  types. 

{a)  De  Laudibus  Legum  Anglice^  the  best  known  and  most 
important  of  his  writings,  is  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between 
Fortescue  and  Prince  Edward,  for  whose  instruction  it  was  com- 
piled. The  judge  urges  the  prince,  while  perfecting  himself  in  all 
martial  exercises,  not  to  neglect  the  study  of  law.  This  leads  to 
a  comparison  of  English  Law  with  the  Civil  Law  much  to  the 
advantage  of  the  former,  especially  in  such  points  as  the  jury 
system,  the  illegality  of  torture,  and  the  inability  of  the  English 
king  to  make  or  change  laws  on  his  own  sole  authority. 

{b)  The  Governance  of  England.,  also  known  as  "the  differ- 
ence between  an  Absolute  and  a  Limited  monarchy"  is  the 
most  mature  and  least  pedantic  of  his  writings,  and  must  have 
been  written  after  1471.  The  first  part  sets  forth  in' English 
dress  and  conciser  form  the  argument  of  the  De  Laudibus  ;  the 


8o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


second  deals  with  the  causes  of  the  paralysis  which,  during  Henry 
VI.'s  reign  was  creeping  over  the  central  authority,  and  suggests 
several  remedies,  such  as  the  resumption  of  royal  grants,  the 
reform  of  the  Privy  Council,  etc. 

III.  Miscellaneous  Wr Hi  tigs. — {a)  A  Dialogue  between  Under- 
standing and  Faith  is  a  brief  but  touching  tract  on  the  miseries 
produced  by  the  Civil  War,  and  breathes  a  spirit  of  unaffected 
piety  and  resignation.  {b)  Two  other  short  pieces.  The  Com- 
?nodities  of  England,  and  The  Twenty  -  two  Righteousnesses 
belonging  to  a  King,  have  been  ascribed  to  Fortescue,  apparently, 
however,  without  sufficient  ground. 

The  historical  value  of  Fortescue's  works  is  great,  both  as 
illustrating  his  own  age,  as  having  furnished  weapons  to  the 
constitutional  reformers  of  1641,  and  as  being  the  first  English 
writings  in  which  a  constitutional  system  is  based  upon  analysis 
of  existing  institutions,  rather  than  on  the  ix  priori  speculation  so 
dear  to  the  medieval  mind. 

As  a  writer  of  English  prose,  Fortescue's  chief  merit  lies  in 
the  fact  that  he  was  the  first  to  adapt  it  to  the  discussion  of  political 
and  constitutional  problems.  His  phraseology  is,  of  course,  some- 
what antiquated  :  he  preserves  tlie  en  termination  of  the  infinitive 
and  of  the  plural  of  verbs,  together  with  a  few  other  archaisms 
which  have  disappeared  by  the  reign  of  Henry  VUI.  His  style, 
moreover,  being  necessarily  experimental,  lacks  elegance  and 
harmony  ;  but  it  is  never  undignified,  it  always  exhibits  the  vigour, 
lucidity,  and  method  of  the  practised  lawyer,  and  occasionally 
kindles  with  the  glow  of  patriotism  or  professional  pride. 

H.  R.  Reichel. 


THE  GOVERNANCE  OF  ENGLAND 

The  Fruits  of  Jus  Regale  and  Jus  Politicum  et  Regale 

And  how  so  be  it  that  the  French  king  reigneth  upon  his  people 
dotninio  regali,  yet  Saint  Louis,  sometime  king  there,  nor  any  of 
his  progenitors  set  never  failles  or  other  imposition  upon  the 
people  of  that  land  without  the  assent  of  the  three  estates,  which 
when  they  be  assembled  be  like  to  the  court  of  the  Parliament  in 
England.  And  this  order  kept  many  of  his  successors  into  late 
days,  that  England  men  made  such  war  in  France,  that  the  three 
estates  durst  not  come  together.  And  then  for  that  cause,  and 
for  great  necessity  which  the  French  king  had  of  goods  for  the 
defence  of  that  land,  he  took  upon  him  to  set  tailles  and  other 
impositions  upon  the  commons  without  the  assent  of  the  three 
estates  ;  but  yet  he  would  not  set  any  such  charges,  nor  hath  set, 
upon  the  nobles  for  fear  of  rebellion.  And  because  the  commons 
there,  though  they  have  grudged,  have  not  rebelled,  or  been  hardy 
to  rebel,  the  French  kings  have  yearly  siihen  set  such  charges 
upon  them,  and  so  augmented  the  same  charges,  as  the  same 
commons  be  so  impoverished  and  destroyed  that  they  may  uneath 
live.  They  drink  water  ;  they  eat  apples  with  bread  right  brown 
made  of  rye  ;  they  eat  no  flesh,  but  if  it  be  right  seldom  a  little 
lard  or  of  the  entrails  and  hides  of  beasts  slain  for  the  nobles  and 
merchants  of  the  land.  They  wear  no  woollen,  but  if  it  be  a 
poor  coat  under  their  uttermost  garment  made  of  great  canvas, 
and  called  a  frock.  Their  hosen  be  of  like  canvas,  and  pass  not 
their  knee,  wherefore  they  be  gartered,  and  their  thighs  bare. 
Their  wives  and  children  go  barefoot  ;  they  may  in  no  other 
wise  live.  For  some  of  them  that  were  wont  to  pay  to  his  lord 
for  his  tenement,  which  he  hireth  by  the  year,  a  scitfe,  payeth  now 
to  the  king  over  that  scufe  five  scutes.  Wherethrough  they  be 
arted  by  necessity  so  to  watch,  labour,  and  grub  in  the  ground  for 
VOL.  I  8i  G 


82  ENGLISH  PROSE 


their  sustenance,  that  their  nature  is  wasted,  and  the  kind  of 
them  brought  to  nought.  They  go  crooked,  and  be  feeble,  not 
able  to  fight,  nor  to  defend  the  realm  ;  nor  they  have  weapons, 
nor  money  to  buy  them  weapons  withal.  But  verily  they  live  in 
the  most  extreme  poverty  and  misery,  and  yet  dwell  they  on  the 
most  fertile  realm  of  the  world.  Wherethrough  the  French  king 
hath  not  men  of  his  own  realm  able  to  defend  it  except  his  nobles, 
which  bear  none  such  impositions,  and  therefore  they  be  right 
likely  of  their  bodies  ;  by  which  cause  the  said  king  is  compelled 
to  make  his  armies  and  retinues  for  the  defence  of  his  land  of 
strangers,  as  Scots,  Spaniards,  Aragoners,  men  of  Almayne  and 
of  other  nations,  or  else  all  his  enemies  might  overrun  him,  for  he 
hath  no  defence  of  his  own  except  his  castles  and  fortresses.  Lo 
this  is  the  fruit  of  his  Jus  Regale.  If  the  realm  of  England, 
which  is  an  isle,  and  therefore  may  not  lightly  get  succour  of 
other  lands,  were  ruled  under  such  a  law  and  under  such  a  prince, 
it  would  be  then  a  prey  to  all  other  nations  that  would  conquer, 
rob,  or  devour  it ;  which  was  well  proved  in  the  time  of  the 
Britons  when  the  Scots  and  the  Picts  so  beat  and  oppressed  this 
land  that  the  people  thereof  sought  help  of  the  Romans,  to  whom 
they  had  been  tributary.  And  when  they  could  not  be  defended 
by  them,  they  sought  help  of  the  Duke  of  Britain,  then  called 
Little  Britain,  and  granted  therefore  to  make  his  brother  Con- 
stantine  their  king.  And  so  he  was  made  king  here,  and  reigned 
many  years,  and  his  children  after  him,  of  which  great  Arthur 
was  one  of  their  issue.  But,  blessed  be  God,  this  land  is  ruled 
under  a  better  law,  and  therefore  the  people  thereof  be  not  in 
such  penury,  nor  thereby  hurt  in  their  persons ;  but  they  be 
wealthy,  and  have  all  things  necessary  to  the  sustenance  of  nature. 
Wherefore  they  be  mighty,  and  able  to  resist  the  adversaries  of 
this  realm,  and  to  beat  other  realms  that  do  or  would  do  them 
wrong.  Lo  this  is  the  fruit  of  Jus  politicum  et  regale,  under 
which  we  live.  Somewhat  now  I  have  showed  the  fruits  of  both 
laws,  ut  ex  frtictibiis  eorum  cognoscaiis  eos. 


The  Harm  to  England  if  the  Commons  were  Poor 

Some  men  have  said  that  it  were  good  for  the  king  that  the 
commons  of  England  were  made  poor,  as  be  the  commons  of 
France.      For  then  they  would  not  rebel,  as  now  they  do  often- 


Sl/t  JOHN  FOR  TESCUE  83 

times  ;  which  the  commons  of  France  do  not,  nor  may  do,  for 
they  have  no  weapons,  nor  armour,  nor  goods  to  buy  it  withal. 
To  this  manner  of  men  may  be  said  with  the  philosopher,  ad pauca 
rcspicientes  de  facili  enunciatit:  This  is  to  say,  they  that  see  bi;t 
few  things  will  soon  say  their  advices.  Forsooth  these  folk 
consider  little  the  good  of  the  realm  of  England,  whereof  the 
might  standeth  most  upon  archers,  which  be  no  rich  men.  And 
if  they  were  made  more  poor  than  they  be,  they  should  not  have 
wherewith  to  buy  them  bows,  arrows,  jacks,  or  any  other  armour 
of  defence,  whereby  they  might  be  able  to  resist  our  enemies  when 
they  list  to  come  upon  us  ;  which  they  may  do  in  every  side, 
considering  that  we  be  an  island,  and,  as  it  is  said  before,  we  may 
not  soon  have  succour  of  any  other  realm.  Wherefore  we  shall 
be  a  prey  to  all  our  enemies,  but  if  we  be  mighty  of  ourselves, 
which  might  standeth  most  upon  our  poor  archers  ;  and  therefore 
they  need  not  only  have  such  ablenients  as  now  is  spoken  of,  but 
also  they  need  to  be  much  exercised  in  shooting,  which  may  not 
be  done  without  right  great  expenses,  as  every  man  expert  therein 
knoweth  right  well.  Wherefore  the  making  poor  of  the  commons, 
which  is  the  making  poor  of  our  archers,  shall  be  the  destruction 
of  the  greatest  might  of  our  realm.  //tv«,  if  poor  men  may  not 
lightly  rise,  as  is  the  opinion  of  these  men,  which  for  that  cause 
would  have  the  commons  poor,  how  then,  if  a  mighty  man  made 
a  rising,  should  he  be  repressed,  when  all  the  commons  be  so 
poor  that  after  such  opinion  they  may  not  fight,  and  by  that 
reason  not  help  the  king  with  fighting  .-*  And  why  maketh  the 
king  the  commons  every  year  to  be  mustered,  sithen  it  were  good 
they  had  no  harness  nor  were  able  to  fight  ?  O,  how  unwise  is 
the  opinion  of  these  men,  for  it  may  not  be  maintained  by  any 
reason !  Item^  when  any  rising  hath  been  made  in  this  land 
before  these  days  by  commons,  the  poorest  men  thereof  have 
been  the  greatest  causers  and  doers  therein.  And  thrifty  men 
have  been  loth  thereto  for  dread  of  losing  of  their  goods.  But 
yet  oftentimes  they  have  gone  with  them  through  menacing  that 
else  the  same  poor  men  would  have  took  their  goods,  wherein  it 
seemeth  that  poverty  hath  been  the  whole  cause  of  all  such  risings. 
The  poor  man  hath  been  stirred  thereto  by  occasion  of  his  poverty 
for  to  get  goods,  and  the  rich  men  have  gone  with  them  because 
they  would  not  be  poor  by  losing  of  their  goods.  What,  then, 
would  fall  if  all  the  commons  were  poor  ?  Truly  it  is  like  that 
this  land  then  should  be  like  unto  the  realm  of  Bohemia,  where 


84  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  commons  for  poverty  rose  upon  the  nobles,  and  made  all 
their  goods  to  be  common.  Iteni^  it  is  the  king's  honour,  and 
also  his  office,  to  make  his  realm  rich  ;  and  it  is  dishonour  when 
he  hath  but  a  poor  realm,  of  which  men  will  say  that  he  reigneth 
but  upon  beggars.  Yet  it  were  much  greater  dishonour  if  he 
found  his  realm  rich,  and  then  made  it  poor.  And  it  were  also 
greatly  against  his  conscience,  that  ought  to  defend  them  and 
their  goods,  if  he  took  from  them  their  goods  without  lawful 
cause  ;  from  the  infamy  whereof  God  defend  our  king,  and  give 
him  grace  to  augment  his  realm  in  riches,  wealth,  and  prosperity 
to  his  perpetual  laud  and  worship.  Item,  the  realm  of  France 
giveth  never  freely  of  their  own  goodwill  any  subsidy  to  their 
prince,  because  the  commons  thereof  be  so  poor  as  they  may  not 
give  anything  of  their  own  goods.  And  the  king  there  asketh 
never  subsidy  of  his  nobles  for  dread  that  if  he  charged  them  so 
they  would  confedre  with  the  commons,  and  peradventure  put  him 
down.  But  our  commons  be  rich,  and  therefore  they  give  to 
their  king  at  some  times  qicinsinies  and  dessimes,  and  ofttimes 
other  great  subsidies,  as  he  hath  need  for  the  good  and  defence 
of  his  realm.  How  great  a  subsidy  was  it  when  the  realm  gave 
to  their  king  a  quinsivie  and  a  dessinie  quinquennial,  and  the 
ninth  fleece  of  their  wools,  and  also  the  ninth  sheaf  of  their 
grains  for  the  term  of  five  years.  This  might  they  not  have  done 
if  they  had  been  impoverished  by  their  king,  as  be  the  commons 
of  France  ;  nor  such  a  grant  hath  been  made  by  any  realm  of 
Christendom,  of  which  any  chronicle  maketh  mention  ;  nor  none 
other  may  or  hath  cause  to  do  so.  For  they  have  not  so  much 
freedom  in  their  own  goods,  nor  be  entreated  by  so  favourable 
laws  as  we  be,  except  a  few  regions  before  specified.  Itoii^  we 
see  daily  how  men  that  have  lost  their  goods,  and  be  fallen  into 
poverty,  become  anon  robbers  and  thieves,  which  would  not  have 
been  such  if  poverty  had  not  brought  them  thereto.  How  many 
a  thief  then  were  like  to  be  in  this  land,  if  all  the  commons  were 
poor.  The  greatest  surety  truly,  and  also  the  most  honour  that 
may  come  to  the  king,  is  that  his  realm  be  rich  in  every  estate. 
For  nothing  may  make  his  people  to  arise  but  lack  of  goods  or 
lack  of  justice.  But  yet  certainly  when  they  lack  goods  they  will 
arise,  saying  that  they  lack  justice.  Nevertheless  if  they  be  not 
poor,  they  will  never  arise  but  if  their  prince  so  leave  justice  that 
he  give  himself  all  to  tyranny. 


SIR  JOHN  FORTESCUE  85 


Only  Cowardice  keeps  the  Frenchmen  from  Rising 

Poverty  is  not  the  cause  why  the  commons  of  France  rise  not 
against  their  sovereign  lord.  For  there  were  never  people  in  that 
land  more  poor  than  were  in  our  time  the  commons  of  the  country 
of  Caux,  which  was  then  almost  desert  for  lack  of  tillers,  as  it  now 
well  appeareth  by  the  new  husbandry  that  is  done  there,  namely 
in  grubbing  and  stocking  of  trees,  bushes,  and  groves  grown  while 
we  were  there  lords  of  the  country.  And  yet  the  said  commons  of 
Caux  made  a  marvellous  great  rising,  and  took  our  towns,  castles, 
and  fortresses,  and  slew  our  captains  and  soldiers  at  such  a  time 
as  we  had  but  few  men  of  war  lying  in  that  country.  Which 
proveth  that  it  is  not  poverty  that  keepeth  Frenchmen  from  rising, 
but  it  is  cowardice  and  lack  of  heart  and  courage,  which  no 
Frenchman  hath  like  unto  an  Englishman.  It  hath  been  often- 
times seen  in  England  that  three  or  four  thieves  for  poverty  have 
set  upon  six  or  seven  true  men,  and  robbed  them  all.  But  it 
hath  not  been  seen  in  France  that  six  or  seven  thieves  have  been 
hardy  to  rob  three  or  four  true  men.  Wherefore  it  is  right 
seldom  that  Frenchmen  be  hanged  for  robbery,  for  they  have  no 
hearts  to  do  so  terrible  an  act.  There  be  therefore  more  men 
hanged  in  England  in  a  year  for  robbery  and  manslaughter  than 
there  be  hanged  in  France  for  such  manner  of  crime  in  seven 
years.  There  is  no  man  hanged  in  Scotland  in  seven  years 
together  for  robbery.  And  yet  they  be  oftentimes  hanged  for 
larceny  and  stealing  of  goods  in  the  absence  of  the  owner  thereof. 
But  their  hearts  serve  them  not  to  take  a  man's  goods  while  he 
is  present,  and  will  defend  it,  which  manner  of  taking  is  called 
robbery.  But  the  Englishman  is  of  another  courage.  For  if  he 
be  poor,  and  see  another  man  having  riches,  which  may  be  taken 
from  him  by  might,  he  will  not  spare  to  do  so,  but  if  that  poor 
man  be  right  true.  Wherefore  it  is  not  poverty,  but  it  is  lack  of 
heart  and  cowardice  that  keepeth  the  Frenchmen  from  rising. 


86  ENGLISH  PROSE 


THE   LAWYER  REFUTING   HIS  OWN  ARGUMENTS 

The  Lear77ed  Man.  —  Your  wisdom,  sir,  conceiveth  well  how 
sergeants  and  advocates,  that  be  right  worshipful  men,  argue 
daily  to  prove  the  titles  of  their  clients,  and  after  that,  in  a  like 
case,  for  another  client,  they  argue  to  the  contrary  intent,  and  be 
not  for  that,  nor  ought  to  be,  blamed.  So  also  do  the  judges  in 
matters  of  great  difficulty  wherein  they  be  also  indifferent,  as  they 
be,  for  such  disputation  is  to  them  best  mean  to  find  the  right  in 
every  doubtous  case.  Gracian  also,  that  compiled  the  book  of 
the  Law  Canon,  called  Decrees,  in  all  his  questions  which  he 
maketh  in  the  cases  which  he  putteth  there,  called  causes,  dis- 
puteth  for  either  party  of  every  question.  Thus  doth  Saint 
Thomas  in  Seciinda  Secundcc,  and  in  all  his  books  whereas  he 
asketh  any  questions  ;  and  thus  do  all  the  clerks  that  determine 
any  matters  in  schools  ;  for  this  order  is  no  doubleness,  but 
argument  and  proof  of  cunning  and  virtue.  And  sith  your 
writings,  which  ye  have  made  in  the  matters  in  the  which  I  now 
move  you,  were  but  arguments,  and  ye  no  Judge,  but  a  partial 
man,  servant  to  him  for  whose  favour  ye  made  the  arguments, 
and  his  cause  is  now  expired,  and  he  dead,  ye  may  now  honestly 
and  commendably,  without  any  note  of  blame,  argue  to  the 
contrary  intent  of  that  ye  have  done  before  this  time,  if  ye  find 
reasons  and  grounds  to  do  so.  And  also  ye  be  now  bound  in 
conscience  and  by  right  to  do  so,  considering  that  ye  be  the 
king's  liegeman,  and  of  his  Council,  and  found  in  his  noble  grace 
also  great  clemency  and  favours  as  ever  did  man  sith  he  first 
reigned  upon  us  ;  and  peradventure  your  old  arguments  and 
writings  may  else  turn  and  be  occasion  to  his  harm,  or  to  the 
infamy  of  the  title  by  which  he  reigneth  upon  us,  which  I  am 
right  sure  you  would  not  were  so.  And,  sir,  if  you  write  as  I 
move  you  to  do,  and  then  it  fortune  your  writing  to  be  not  of 
such  effect  as  ye  intend,  which  thing  methinketh  you  dread 
greatly,  the  king  shall  not  be  harmed  thereby  ;  for  his  highness 
may  then  make  other  notable  and  cunning  men  to  make  better 
writing  therein,  wherein  they  shall  find  less  difficulty  when  they 
have  seen  your  writings. 

Fortescue. — Sir,  your  reasons  and  motives  be  so  great  that,  if 
I  do  not  as  ye  move  me,  I  dread  that  men  shall  hold  me  self- 
willed  ;  and  therefore  I  will  essay  and  do  as  ye  desire  me.      The 


SIR  JOHN  FORTESCUE  %j 

matter  which  ye  say  I  wrote,  and  is  so  greatly  against  the  king, 
is  this  :  I  wrote  how  that  me  seemed  no  woman  ought  soverainly 
or  supremely  to  reign  upon  man.  Which  matters  I  pretended  to 
prove  by  the  judgments  which  God  gave  upon  the  first  woman 
when  she  had  sinned,  saying  to  her  these  words,  Eris  sub  poiestate 
vin\  et  ipse  doiiiinabitur  tui,  which  be  written  in  the  book  of 
Genesis,  the  third  chapter,  and  be  such  in  English,  "Thou  shalt 
be  under  the  power  of  man,  and  he  shall  be  thy  lord  "  ;  which 
words,  spoken  to  that  woman,  were,  as  I  then  wrote,  spoken  to 
all  the  kind  of  women,  as  the  words  then  spoken  by  God  to  the 
first  man  were  said  to  all  mankind.  This  matter  ye  now  desire 
that  I  will  so  declare,  and  also  the  matters  of  a  book  which  I 
wrote  in  Latin  to  enforce  rnine  intent  herein,  as  the  king,  our 
sovereign  lord,  be  not  harmed  by  them  in  his  titles  of  England  or 
of  France.  Sir,  as  to  the  first  point  in  which  ye  desire  my 
declaration,  I  hope  to  find  not  difficulty.  For  our  Lord  said  not 
in  His  aforesaid  judgement  that  a  woman  should  be  under  the 
power  and  lordship  of  all  men,  or  of  many  men,  but  He  said 
indefinitely  or  indeterminably  that  she  should  be  under  the  power 
and  lordship  of  man  ;  which  is  true  if  she  be  under  the  power  or 
lordship  of  any  man.  For  logicians  say,  Qiiod  proposiiio  inde- 
finita  est  vera  si  in  aliquo  supposito  ilia  sit  vera,  and  by  that 
reason  she  is  under  the  power  and  lordship  of  man  if  in  any  kind 
of  subjection  she  be  under  the  power  and  lordship  of  any  man. 
Wherefore  howbeit  that  there  be  many  kinds  of  lordships  called 
by  diverse  names  in  Latin,  as  is  Domi?nufn  regale,  Dominium 
politiaim,  Dominium  despoticum,  and  such  other  ;  if  a  woman  be 
under  the  power  of  man  in  one  of  the  kinds  of  lordships,  she  is 
under  the  lordship  of  man.  And  that  every  woman  is  under  the 
power  and  lordship  of  some  one  man,  which  is  all  that  she  is 
arted  unto  by  the  aforesaid  judgment  in  Genesis,  may  not  be 
denied  ;  for  every  woman  is  under  the  power  and  lordship  of  the 
pope,  which  is  a  man,  and  he  vicar  of  Christ,  God  and  man. 
And  though  his  power  and  lordship  were  but  spiritual,  yet  the 
being  under  that  power  and  lordship  is  a  being  under  the  power 
and  lordship  of  man.  Wherefore  the  aforesaid  text  of  Genesis, 
or  anything  by  me  deduced  thereof,  may  not  prove  that  a  woman 
may  not  reign  in  a  kingdom  of  which  the  king  hath  no  sovereign 
in  temporalities,  sith  she  abideth  alway  subject  to  the  pope.  And 
by  the  same  reason  it  may  not  hurt  the  king  in  his  titles  to  his 
aforesaid  two  realms. 


88  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Item,  this  matter  is  argued  in  the  aforesaid  Latin  book  in  this 
form.  God  commanded,  and  by  His  judgement  estabhshed,  that 
every  woman  shall  be  under  the  power  and  lordship  of  man  ; 
then,  by  the  same  commandment  and  judgement,  He  commanded 
that  no  woman  shall  be  free  or  exempt  from  the  power  and 
lordship  of  man  ;  for,  as  I  wrote  there,  Precepto  uno  contrariorum 
eoruvi  alterum  prohiberi  necesse  est.  But  a  woman  to  reign  in  a 
kingdom,  of  which  the  kingdom  is  subject  to  no  man  in  tempor- 
alities, is  a  woman  to  be  free  and  exempt  from  the  power  and 
lordship  of  man  ;  it  shall  then  necessarily  ensue  that  no  woman 
may  reign  in  any  such  kingdom  ;  for  it  were  supremely  and 
sovereignly  to  reign  upon  man,  wherethrough  she  were  then  not 
under  the  power  and  lordship  of  man.  This  is  the  strongest 
argument  that  is  made  in  the  said  book  by  reason  of  the  aforesaid 
text  of  Genesis.  Wherefore  if  this  argumewt  be  clearly  destroyed, 
the  first  matter  which  ye  desire  me  to  declare  is  then  clearly 
declared.  Now  truly  I  am  right  sorry  that  ever  I  made  any  such 
argument  ;  for  it  is  an  informal  tale,  and  no  kind  of  syllogism. 
Wherefore  the  minor  is  impossible,  and  therefore  not  true  ;  and 
the  consequent,  if  it  might  be  called  a  consequent,  is  not  necessary. 
Wherefore  this  manner  of  argument  proveth  nothing. 

(From  A  Declaration  upon  Certain   Writings  lately  sent 
out  of  Scotland.^ 


JOHN  CAPGRAVE 


[John  Capgrave,  an  extensive  contributor  to  the  prose  Hterature  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  was  born  at  Lynn  in  Norfolk  on  the  21st  of  April  1393- 
After  receiving  his  education  either  at  Cambridge,  as  seems  most  probable,  or 
at  Oxford,  or  possibly  at  both  Universities,  he  entered  the  priesthood  in  his 
twenty-fourth  year,  and  appears  to  have  resided  for  a  time  in  London.  But 
he  seems  to  have  settled  early  at  the  Friary  at  Lynn,  devoting  himself  to  those 
theological  and  historical  studies  of  which  his  works  are  the  record.  Shortly 
after  taking  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  at  Oxford  he  was  elected 
Provincial  of  his  Order  in  England,  and  it  is  likely  that  during  the  latter 
years  of  his  life  he  was  head  of  the  Friary  where  he  had  resided  so  long. 
Beyond  the  facts  that  he  witnessed  the  embarkation  of  the  Princess  Philippa 
when  she  sailed  to  Norway,  that  he  was  personally  acquainted  with  William 
Millington,  the  first  Provost  of  King's  College,  Cambridge,  and  that  he  visited 
Rome,  nothing  more  is  known  of  his  life.  He  died  at  Lynn,  12th  August 
1464,  aged  seventy  years.  By  far  the  greater  portion  of  his  writings  remains 
in  manuscript  ;  but  his  principal  work  in  English,  The  Chronicle  of  England, 
has  been  edited  in  the  Master  of  the  Rolls  Series  by  the  Rev.  Francis  Charles 
Hingeston  (1858),  and  his  principal  Latin  work,  the  Liber  de  Illustribus 
Hcnricis,  by  the  same  editor  for  the  same  series.] 

The  interest  of  Capgrave  is  purely  historical.  A  place  has  been 
assigned  to  him  in  this  volume,  not  because  his  writings  have  any 
intrinsic  value  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  but  because  no  work 
illustrating  the  development  of  English  prose  literature  would  be 
complete  without  some  notice  of  an  author  who  is  our  earliest 
important  historian  in  the  vernacular,  and  who  contributed  so 
extensively  to  theology  and  historj'.  The  work  in  which  he  is 
seen  most  to  advantage  is  the  Liber  de  Illustribus  Henricis,  but 
as  this  is  in  Latin  the  scope  of  the  present  collection  does  not  admit 
of  extracts  from  it.  His  chief  work  in  English — indeed  the  only 
work  which  has  been  printed  in  its  entirety — is  his  Chronicle  of 
England.  It  commences,  as  was  usual  with  such  works  in  those 
days,  with  the  Creation,  and  it  is  continued  in  the  form  of  annals, 
more  or  less  meagre,  to  the  reign  of  Richard  II.  From  that 
89 


90 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


point  the  narrative  becomes  much  fuller,  and  is  pursued  in  the 
form  of  regular  history  to  the  year  1 4 18.  The  Chronick  is  dedi- 
cated to  Edward  IV. 

Capgrave  stands  midway  between  two  important  eras  in  the  de- 
velopment of  English  prose  composition — between  the  era  initiated 
by  John  de  Trevisa,  the  pseudo  Mandeville,  Chaucer,  and  Wycliffe, 
which    may    be    said    to    have    culminated    in    the    chief  work   of 
Reginald   Pecock,  and  the  era  initiated  by  his  immediate  succes- 
sors, Sir  Thomas    Malor>',  whose  Morte  cV Arthur  was  completed 
in  1473,  and  Sir  John   Fortescue,  whose  Governance  of  England 
was  written  about    1476.      But  in  point  of  style  Capgrave  is  as 
inferior  to  his  predecessors  as  he  is  to  his  successors.      Incompar- 
ably inferior  in  point  of  vigour,  grace,  rhythm,  and  copiousness  and 
choice  of  words  to  the  composition  of  the  chief  contemporaries  of 
Chaucer,  his  style  as  compared  with  that  of  Pecock  seems  almost 
a    relapse    into    barbarism.      Without    vigour   or   colour,    without 
grace    or    ornament,    his    style    is    singularly  jejune   and   feeble. 
Here  and  there,  indeed,  a  neatly  turned  sentence  and  a  rhythmic 
paragraph   indicate   that   the   example  of  his   more  accomplished 
predecessors    had    not    been    without    effect.       Considering    how 
much  our  language  had  been  enriched  by  Chaucer  and  Lydgate 
in   verse,   and    by    Pecock  and    others    in    prose,   it  is    surprising 
that  Capgrave's  vocabulary  should  be  so  limited  ;  and  limited  it 
is  in  a  remarkable  degree.  .   But  the  explanation  of  his  literary 
deficiencies  is  no  doubt  partly  to  be  found  in  the  temper  of  the 
man  himself,  and  partly  in  the  fact  that  his  life  was  passed,  not  at 
any  of  the  centres  of  culture,  but  in  a  remote  and  obscure  corner 
of  the  provinces.      His  temper  is  the  temper  of  the  pedant  and 
the  monk,  neither  curious  nor  intelligent  when  important  matters 
are   in   question,  but  scrupulous   ^bout   trifles,  and  delighting  un- 
critically to  record  them  ;   inordinately  superstitious,  narrow  alike 
in    sympathy  and    in   understanding,   without   grasp  and    without 
vigour.      It  is,  however,  due  to  him  to  say  that,   if  he  abuses  the 
Wycliffites  and  the  Lollards,  he  is  no  friend  to  Papal   aggression, 
and  this  circumstance,  and  this  only,  connects  him  with  the  party 
of  progress. 

J.  Churton  Collins. 


DEDICATION  TO  EDWARD   IV 

O  MY  benign  Lord,  receive  this  book,  though  it  be  simple  :  and 
let  that  Gospel  come  in  mind,  where  the  widow  offered  so  little, 
and  had  so  much  thank. 

Now  will  I  make  you  privy  what  manner  opinion  I  have  of 
your  person  in  my  privy  meditations.  I  have  a  trust  in  God  that 
your  entry  into  your  heritage  shall,  and  must  be,  fortunate,  for 
many  causes.  First,  for  ye  entered  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  Christ 
after  that  a  M.CCCC.  were  complete.  This  number  of  six  is 
among  writers  much  commended  for  that  same  perfection  that 
belongeth  to  six.  When  he  riseth  by  one  the  same  belongeth  to 
him  when  he  is  multiplied  by  ten.  The  number  of  six  is  applied 
to  a  square  stone,  which  hath  six  planes,  and  eight  corners. 
Wherever  you  lay  him  or  turn  him,  he  lieth  firm  and  stable.  Ye 
shall  understand  that  all  the  labour  of  the  world  is  figured  in  six 
days  ;  for  the  Sunday  betokeneth  the  rest  that  shall  be  in  Heaven. 
We  pray  God  that  all  your  labour  in  this  world  may  rest  on  God, 
which  joined  by  the  corner  stone  Christ  the  two  walls  of  Jews  and 
Heathen  into  one  Faith.  This  number  eke  of  six  is  praised  for 
his  particular  numbers,  which  be  one,  two,  three  ;  and  these  be 
cleped  cote,  for  in  their  revolving  they  make  him  ever  whole,  as 
six  times  one  is  six,  thrice  two  is  six,  twice  three  is  six.  This 
consideration  may  ye  have  in  this  arsmetrick.  Serve  one  God 
all  the  days  of  your  life,  which  days,  as  is  said,  be  comprehended 
in  the  number  six,  and  there  is  six  times  one.  Make  in  your 
soul  two  ternaries,  one  in  faith,  another  in  love  :  believe  in  God- — 
Father  and  Son  and  Holy  Ghost  :  love  God  in  all  your  heart,  all 
your  soul,  and  all  your  mind.  Make  eke  three  binaries.  As  for 
the  first,  think  that  ye  be  made  of  two  natures  —  body  and  soul. 
Look  that  your  soul  have  ever  the  sovereignty,  and  that  the 
bestial  moving  of  the  body  oppress  not  the  soul.  The  second 
binary  is  to  think  that  there  be  two  ways  in  this  world,  one  to 

91 


92  ENGLISH  PROSE 


life,  another  to  death.  That  way  that  leadeth  to  everlasting  life, 
though  it  be  strait,  keep  it.  Those  men  that  run  the  large  way 
clepe  them  again  by  your  power  The  third  binary  is  love  of 
God,  and  love  of  your  neighbour.  For  even  as  it  is  your  duty  to 
love  God  with  dread,  so  it  is  your  office  for  to  see  that  men  love 
you  with  dread.  The  Apostle,  when  he  speaketh  of  potestates, 
"He  beareth  not  his  sword,"  he  saith,  "without  cause."  The 
Roman  law  was,  "  To  spare  them  that  asked  grace,  and  to  smite 
down  the  proud." 


CAUSES  OF  THE  LONGEVITY  OF  THE 
ANTEDILUVIANS 

Men  that  be  studious  move  this  question,  why  men  at  that  time 
lived  so  long.  And  they  assign  many  reasons.  One  is  the  good- 
ness and  the  cleanness  of  complexion  which  was  new  given  them 
by  God.  For  when  it  was  newly  taken,  it  had  more  virtue  be- 
cause of  the  Giver.  Another  cause  is,  that  men  lived  that  time 
with  more  temperance  than  they  do  now.  The  third  cause  may 
be  cleped  the  goodness  of  those  meats  which  they  ate  ;  for  they 
ate  no  thing  but  such  as  groweth  freely  on  the  earth,  neither 
flesh  nor  fish  ;  and  by  the  Flood,  which  came  for  the  most  part 
out  of  the  salt  sea,  cleped  the  ocean,  the  earth  was  so  impaired 
that  it  bare  never  so  good  fruits  sith.  The  fourth  is  of  the  great 
science  which  Adam  had,  and  which  he  taught  his  issue  :  for  he 
knew  the  virtue  of  herbs  and  seeds  better  than  ever  did  any 
earthly  man,  save  Christ  ;  and  he  knew  the  privy  working  of  them 
which  were  most  able  to  preserve  men  in  long  life.  The  fifth 
cause  is  of  the  good  aspect  of  stars,  that  was  over  them  at  those 
days,  which  aspect  profiteth  much  to  the  length  of  life  to  man 
and  to  beast  ;  for  this  is  a  cormnon  proverb  at  the  philosophers, 
that  the  bodies  in  earth  be  much  ruled  after  the  planets  above. 
The  sixth  cause  is  of  God's  ordination,  that  would  those  men 
should  live  so  long  for  multiplication  of  their  kindred,  and  eke  for 
to  have  long  experience  of  certain  sciences. 


JOHN  CAPGRA  VE  93 

THE  VISION  WHICH  APPEARED  TO  AUGUSTUS 
CESAR 

OCTAVIAN  began  to  reign  the  year  of  the  world  five  thousand  one 
hundred  and  seven  and  fifty.  Before  the  Nativity  of  Christ  he 
reigned  twelve  years,  and  after  the  Nativity  of  Christ  fourteen 
years.  He  was  born  in  Rome ;  his  father  hight  Octavian,  a 
senator.  His  mother  was  of  the  kin  of  yEneas,  a  Trojan.  Cousin 
he  was  unto  Julius  Caesar,  and,  by  choice,  his  son.  This  man 
brought  all  the  empire  into  one  monarchy.  And  yet,  as  worthy 
as  he  was,  he  wanted  not  vices  :  for  he  would  never  rest  without 
great  number  of  women  and  maidens.  The  people  of  Rome,  for 
his  great  beauty,  prosperity,  and  peace,  would  worship  him  as  a 
god.  But  he  would  not  receive  it,  but  asked  leisure  to  give  them 
an  answer.  Then  called  he  to  him  sibyl  Tiburtine,  and  rehearsed 
unto  her  the  desire  of  the  senate.  She  asked  the  space  of  three 
days  aviseiiieni,  in  which  she,  and  he,  and  many  more,  fasted  and 
prayed.  And  at  the  three  days'  end,  they  saw  Heaven  open,  and 
a  great  brightness  shining  upon  them  :  and  then  saw  they  a  fair 
image  of  a  maid  upon  an  altar,  and  a  child  in  her  arms.  And 
when  he  marvelled  greatly,  he  heard  a  voice  from  Heaven  crying 
in  this  manner,  "This  is  the  altar  of  God's  son."  Then  fell  he 
down  unto  the  earth,  and  reverently  worshipped  that  sight.  The 
next  day  he  went  unto  the  Capitol,  and  told  them  all  this  vision, 
and  refused  their  protfer.  This  same  vision  was  seen  in  the 
chamber  of  Octavian,  which  is  now  a  Church  and  a  Convent  of 
Freres  Mcnouris.      It  is  cleped  now  "  Ara  Coeli." 


THE   STORY  OF  COUNT  LEOPOLD 

CoNRARDUS  Primus  reigned  twenty  years.  He  loved  peace 
above  all  things  ;  and  therefore  he  made  a  law,  that  who  that 
breaketh  peace  betwixt  any  princes,  he  should  lose  his  head. 

There  was  an  earl  in  this  land  they  cleped  Lupoid.  He  was 
accused  to  the  emperor  that  he  had  broke  this  statute.  Where- 
fore he  fled  into  a  wilderness,  and  lived  as  a  hermit  with  wife  and 
children.  No  man  wist  where  he  was.  And  happed  afterward 
the  king  hunted  in  the  same  forest,  lost  his  metiy  ;  night  fell  on, 


94  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  for  very  need  he  was  lodged  with  this  hermit ;  and  that  same 
night  the  countess  had  child  ;  and  a  voice  heard  the  emperor 
that  this  same  child  should  be  his  successor.  And  the  emperor 
had  scorn  that  so  poor  a  child  should  reign  after  him,  com- 
manded his  servants  to  bear  the  child  into  the  wood,  slay  him, 
and  bring  him  the  heart.  They  thought  of  pity  they  might  not 
fulfil  this  :  they  laid  the  child  in  the  leaves,  and  brought  him  the 
heart  of  a  hare.  A  duke  they  cleped  Herri  found  the  child,  bare 
it  to  his  house,  and,  because  his  wife  was  barren,  they  feigned  it 
was  hers.  When  the  child  was  grown,  the  emperor  dined  with 
this  duke.  The  child  stood  before  him,  and  he  gan  remember 
the  face  of  that  child  which  he  commanded  to  be  slain,  desired 
him  of  the  Duke,  led  him  forth,  sent  him  to  the  empress  with 
such  a  letter,  "  That  day  that  ye  receive  this  child,  ordain  for 
him  that  he  be  dead."  So  happed  the  child  for  to  sleep  in  a 
priest's  house  by  the  way,  and  the  priest  read  the  letter :  of  pity 
he  erased  the  clause,  and  changed  it  into  this  sentence,  "  That 
day  ye  receive  this  child,  in  most  goodly  haste  wed  him  to  our 
daughter."  When  the  emperor  came  home,  and  saw  that  God's 
ordinance  would  not  be  broke,  he  took  it  more  at  ease  ;  specially 
when  he  knew  what  man  was  his  father. 


THE  GHOST  OF   BISHOP  GROSTESTE  APPEARS  TO 
THE   POPE 

In  the  thirty-sixth  year  of  his  reign  died  Robert  Grosteste,  born 
in  Suffolk,  and  bishop  of  Lincoln.  He  bequeathed  all  his  books 
to  the  Freres  Menouris  of  Oxenford.  He  had  been  at  Rome  and 
pleaded  for  the  right  of  the  Church  of  England  under  the  Pope 
Innocent.  For  that  same  pope  raised  many  new  things  of  this 
land,  and  gave  the  benefices  without  consent  of  the  king,  or 
patrons,  or  any  other.  And  this  same  bishop  Robert  wrote  and 
said  against  the  pope  ;  and  at  Rome,  in  his  presence,  appealed 
from  him  to  the  high  King  of  Heaven.  So  came  he  home,  and 
died.  And  in  his  death  he  appeared  to  the  pope,  and  smote  him 
in  the  side  with  the  pike  of  his  cross-staff,  and  said  thus  :  "  Rise, 
wretch,  and  come  to  the  doom."  These  words  heard  the  ctibi- 
culers,  and  the  stroke  was  seen  in  his  side,  for  he  died  anon  after 
that. 


WILLIAM  CAXTON 


[Caxton,  the  exact  year  of  whose  birth  is  uncertain,  but  may  safely  be 
placed  between  141 1  and  1422,  was  born  and  spent  his  earliest  years  in  the 
Weald  of  Kent.  He  was  apprenticed  to  Robert  Large,  a  mercer  of  repute  in 
London,  who  was  Lord  Mayor  in  1440.  On  the  death  of  his  master  shortly 
after,  Caxton  went  to  Bruges,  carrying  on  the  business  of  a  mercer  there,  and 
acting  subsequently  (in  1465)  as  Governor  of  the  Company  of  Merchant 
Adventurers,  who  pushed  the  interests  of  English  traders  in  the  Low  Countries, 
and  to  whom  Edward  IV'.  had  granted  a  charter.  In  this  capacity  he  was 
employed  in  the  endeavour  to  arrange  a  commercial  treaty,  which  did  not 
succeed  until  the  accession  of  Charles  the  Bold  as  Uuke  of  Burgundy,  and  his 
marriage  to  Margaret,  the  sister  of  Edward  IV.,  in  1468.  This  coincided 
with  the  date  when  Caxton  was  beginning  to  occupy  his  leisure  with  literary 
pursuits.  He  was  already  engaged  in  translating  into  English  a  French 
version  of  the  tales  of  Troy,  called  Le  Recueil  des  Histoires  de  Troye,  and  his 
attempt  obtained  the  patronage  of  the  Duchess,  into  whose  service  he  entered. 
In  the  succeeding  years  he  was  employed  in  further  translations,  and  in  pre- 
paring for  the  more  important  business  of  his  life  by  learning  the  infant  art  of 
printing.  This  he  transferred  to  England  in  1476,  when  he  set  up  his 
printing-press  at  Westminster.  He  had  already  followed  up  the  translation 
of  the  Troy  Tales  by  the  Game  and  Play  of  C/iess,  also  from  the  French,  and 
he  now  issued  the  first  book  printed  in  England,  The  Dictes  and  Sayings  of 
the  Philosophers,  a  translation  made  by  Anthony  Woodville,  Lord  Rivers. 
From  this  time  he  Showed  marvellous  activity  in  two  spheres  of  labour — 
translations  from  the  French,  of  which  he  made  no  fewer  than  twenty-one, 
and  printed  copies  of  his  own  or  others'  work,  of  which  seventy-one  specimens 
seem  to  have  come  from  his  press  down  to  the  time  of  his  death  in  1491.] 

The  most  important  part  of  Caxton's  work  was  undoubtedly  that 
which  he  achieved  by  the  introduction  of  printing  into  England, 
which  indirectly  had  an  enormous  influence  upon  the  future  of 
our  literature.  This,  however,  scarcely  falls  within  the  scope  of 
the  present  volume,  which  is  concerned  rather  with  his  place  in 
the  development  of  English  prose.  "  I  was  born,"  he  says 
himself,  "  and  learned  mine  English  in  Kent,  in  the  Weald,  where, 
I  doubt  not,  is  spoken  as  broad  and  rude  English  as  in  any  place 
95 


96  ENGLISH  PROSE 


of  England."  But  he  was  sent,  by  the  care  of  his  parents  to 
one  of  the  schools,  which  had  during  the  previous  generation 
undergone  a  great  change,  and  where  a  written  EngHsh  was 
taught  to  the  scholars  in  place  of  the  French  which  had  previously 
formed  the  foundation  of  education  for  the  better  class.  When 
he  began  his  translations,  Caxton  was  met  at  the  very  outset  with 
a  difficulty  of  choice.  Was  he  to  attempt  to  build  up  from  the 
common  vernacular  a  written  language,  or  was  he  to  help  in  the 
construction  of  what  was  virtually  a  new  tongue  upon  a  broader 
and  more  literary  basis  1  The  objection  to  the  first  was  that  the 
vernacular  varied  infinitely,  as  between  different  parts  of  the 
country.  He  was  urged,  he  tells  us,  "  to  use  old  and  homely 
terms  in  my  translations."  But  when  he  attempted,  on  the 
model  of  old  books,  to  obey  the  advice,  he  found  that  these  terms 
were  so  rude  and  broad  that  he  could  not  himself  understand 
them.  "  It  was  more  like  to  Dutch  than  English  ;  I  could  not 
reduce,  nor  bring  it  to  be  understood."  Not  only  did  it  vary 
between  one  county  and  another,  but  it  was  in  such  a  state  of 
fluctuation  and  wavering  that  no  certainty  of  its  fixed  form  could 
be  attained.  Between  the  choice  of  the  "  rude,  plain,  and  curious 
terms,"  Caxton,  in  his  own  words,  "  stood  abashed."  The  diffi- 
culty that  thus  faced  Caxton  was  one  upon  which  hung  a  most 
critical  question  for  the  future  of  our  language  ;  and  it  is  fortunate 
that  the  general  taste  of  the  literary  patrons  of  his  time,  under 
whose  guidance  he  worked,  pointed  clearly  in  the  direction  of  a 
more  elaborate  and  eclectic  style.  All  his  own  inclinations 
evidently  pointed  the  same  way.  The  associate  of  the  nobles  of 
his  day,  familiar  with  courts,  accustomed  to  the  pomp  and 
pageantry  of  chivalry,  he  found  his  chief  model  in  the  French 
style,  of  which  he  professes  profound  admiration.  He  tells  us 
how,  when  he  was  about  to  begin  his  translation  of  the  Recueil 
des  Histoires  de  Troye,  he  took  a  French  book  in  which  he  had 
great  pleasure,  "  For  the  fair  language  of  the  French,  which  was  in 
prose  so  well  and  compendiously  set  and  written,  which  methought 
I  understood  the  sentence  and  substance  of  every  matter."  To 
spread  abroad  a  taste  for  a  similar  style  in  England — one  which 
would  be  as  readily  and  easily  understood  by  all  his  countrymen, 
as  the  rude  vernacular  was,  in  separate  dialects,  by  the  men  of 
each  county — this  was  Caxton's  ambition,  and  for  the  way  in 
which  he  accomplished  his  task  he  deserves  quite  as  much  grati- 
tude as  for  the  energy  and  enterprise  with   which  he  planted  in 


WILLIAM  CAXTON  97 


England  that  art  which  was  to  revolutionise  the  place  of  literature 
amongst  the  nations.  He  saw  the  growth  of  a  new  language, 
"  honourably  enlarged  and  adorned,"  begun  even  in  the  days  of 
his  boyhood,  when  Henry  V.  was  king  ;  he  saw  the  gratitude  due 
to  Chaucer  for  having  first  set  a  model  of  "ornate  writing." 
"  Before  that  (Chaucer)  by  his  labour,  embellished,  ornated,  and 
made  fair  our  English,  in  this  realm  was  had  rude  speech  and 
incongruous,  as  yet  appeareth  by  old  books."  He  saw  the  skill 
with  which  Chaucer  "  comprehended  his  matter  in  short,  quick, 
and  high  sentences,"  and  he  devoted  himself,  with  a  literary  taste 
and  discernment  which  perhaps  have  been  unduly  cast  into  the 
shade  by  his  material  triumphs  in  the  printer's  art,  to  help  in 
spreading  abroad  the  style  which  Chaucer's  genius  had  begun. 
Ca.xton  cannot  be  said  to  have  creative  power  or  literary  invention 
of  his  own.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to  conceive  of  him  as  only  a 
diligent  and  humble  translator,  content  to  spread  abroad  the 
work  of  others,  and  without  discernment  or  judgment  of  his  own. 
His  own  translations,  if  we  may  give  the  name  to  his  free  para- 
phrase of  French  books  of  romance  and  chivalry,  and  to  his 
compilations  from  the  tales  then  floating  about  Europe,  are  un- 
ambitious and  of  no  great  interest  in  matter.  They  are  filled 
with  the  usual  tedious  moralisings,  and  show  no  great  power  of 
selection  or  force  of  narrative.  But  they  have  the  essential 
element  of  literary  power  in  a  style  of  admirable  clearness,  in  a 
certain  easy  and  polished  grace  of  language,  and  in  a  bold  adoption 
of  words  of  foreign  origin,  which  were  fitted  to  enrich  the  store- 
house of  English,  and  to  give  to  our  tongue  the  most  valuable 
quality  of  facility  and  variety  of  expression.  It  is  for  this  that 
Caxton  deserves  not  only  the  praise  due  to  a  pioneer  in  his  craft, 
but  also  that  due  to  a  weighty  contributor  to  the  development  of 
our  literary  style. 

H.  Craik. 


VOL.  I 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE   RECUEIL  DES   HISTOIRES 
DE  TROYE. 

Here  beginneth  the  volume  entitled  and  named  the  recueil  of  the 
histories  of  Troy,  composed  and  drawn  out  of  divers  books  of 
Latin  into  French,  by  the  right  venerable  person  and  worshipful 
man,  Raoul  le  Fevre,  priest  and  chaplain  unto  the  right  noble,  glori- 
ous, and  mighty  prince  in  his  time,  Philip,  duke  of  Bourgoyne,  of 
Brabant,  etc.,  in  the  year  of  the  incarnation  of  our  Lord  God  one 
thousand  four  hundred  sixty  and  four,  and  translated  and  drawn 
out  of  French  into  English  by  William  Caxton,  mercer  of  the  city 
of  London,  at  the  commandment  of  the  right  high,  mighty,  and 
virtuous  princess,  his  redoubted  lady  Margaret,  by  the  grace  of 
God  Duchess  of  Bourgoyne,  of  Lotryk,  of  Brabant,  etc.,  which  said 
translation  and  work  was  begun  in  Bruges  in  the  County  of 
Flanders,  the  first  day  of  March,  the  year  of  the  incarnation  of 
our  said  Lord  God  one  thousand  four  hundred  sixty  and  eight, 
and  ended  and  finished  in  the  holy  city  of  Cologne  the  19th  day 
of  September,  the  year  of  our  said  Lord  God  one  thousand  four 
hundred  sixty  and  eleven,  etc. 

And  on  that  other  side  of  this  leaf  followeth  the  prologue. 

When  I  remember  that  every  man  is  bounden  by  the  command- 
ment and  counsel  of  the  wise  man  to  eschew  sloth  and  idleness, 
which  is  mother  and  nourisher  of  vices,  and  ought  to  put  myself 
unto  virtuous  occupation  and  business,  then  I,  having  no  great 
charge  of  occupation,  following  the  said  counsel,  took  a  French 
book  and  read  therein  many  strange  and  marvellous  histories  wherein 
I  had  great  pleasure  and  delight,  as  well  for  the  novelty  of  the 
same  as  for  the  fair  language  of  French,  which  was  in  prose  so  well 
and  compendiously  set  and  written,  which  methought  I  understood 
the  sentence  and  substance  of  every  matter.  And  forsomuch  as 
this  book  was  new  and  late  made  and  drawn  into  French,  and 
never  had  seen  it  in  our  English  tongue,  I  thought  in  myself  it 
98 


WILLIAM  CAXTON  $9 


should  be  a  good  business  to  translate  it  into  our  English,  to  the 
end  that  it  might  be  had  as  well  in  the  realm  of  England  as  in  other 
lands,  and  also  for  to  pass  therewith  the  time,  and  thus  concluded 
in  myself  to  begin  this  said  work.  And  forthwith  took  pen  and 
ink  and  began  boldly  to  run  forth  as  blind  Bayard,  in  this  present 
work  which  is  named  the  Recueil  of  the  Trojan  histories.  And 
afterward  when  I  remembered  myself  of  my  simpleness  and  un- 
perfectness  that  I  had  in  both  languages,  that  is,  to  wit,  in  French 
and  in  English,  for  in  France  was  I  never,  and  was  born  and 
learned  mine  I^nglish  in  Kent  in  the  Weald  where,  I  doubt  not,  is 
spoken  as  broad  and  rude  English  as  in  any  place  of  England,  and 
have  continued,  by  the  space  of  thirty  years,  for  the  most  part  in 
the  countries  of  Brabant,  Flanders,  Holland,  and  Zeeland  ;  and 
thus  when  all  these  things  came  tofore  me  after  that  I  had  made 
and  written  a  five  or  six  quires,  I  fell  in  despair  of  this  work  and 
purposed  no  more  to  have  continued  therein,  and  those  quires  laid 
apart,  and  in  two  years  after  laboured  no  more  in  this  work.  And 
was  fully  in  will  to  have  left  it,  till  on  a  time  it  fortuned  that  the 
right  high,  excellent,  and  right  virtuous  princess,  my  right  redoubted 
lady,  my  lady  Margaret,  by  the  grace  of  God  sister  unto  the  King  of 
England  and  of  France,  my  sovereign  lord  —  Duchess  of  Bour- 
goyne,  of  Lotryk,  of  Brabant,  of  Lymburgh,  and  of  Luxembourg, 
Countess  of  Flanders  and  Artois  and  of  Bourgoyne,  Palatine  of 
Hainault,  of  Holland,  of  Zeeland,  and  of  Namur,  Marchioness  of 
the  holy  empire,  lady  of  Fries,  of  Salins,  and  of  Mechlin — sent  for 
me  to  speak  with  her  good  grace  of  divers  matters.  Among  the 
which,  I  let  her  highness  have  knowledge  of  the  foresaid  beginning 
of  this  work,  which  anon  commanded  me  to  show  the  said  five  or 
six  quires  to  her  said  grace,  and  when  she  had  seen  them,  anon 
she  found  a  default  in  mine  English,  which  she  commanded  me 
to  amend,  and  moreover  commanded  me  straitly  to  continue  and 
make  an  end  of  the  residue  then  not  translated  ;  whose  dreadful 
commandment  I  durst  in  no  wise  disobey,  because  I  am  a  servant 
unto  her  said  grace,  and  receive  of  her  yearly  fee,  and  other  many 
good  and  great  benefits,  and  also  hope  many  more  to  receive  of 
her  highness  ;  but  forthwith  went  and  laboured  in  the  said  trans- 
lation after  my  simple  and  poor  cunning  ;  also,  nigh  as  I  can, 
following  mine  author,  meekly  beseeching  the  bounteous  highness 
of  my  said  lady  that  of  her  benevolence  list  to  accept  and  take  in 
gree  this  simple  and  rude  work  here  following.  And  if  there  be 
anything  'vritten  or  said  to  her  pleasure,  I  shall  think  my  labour 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


well  employed,  and  whereas  there  is  default  that  she  arette  it  to  the 
simpleness  of  my  cunning  which  is  full  small  in  this  behalf,  and 
require  and  pray  all  them  that  shall  read  this  said  work  to  correct 
it,  and  to  hold  me  excused  of  the  rude  and  simple  translation. 
And  thus  I  end  my  prologue. 


EPILOGUE    TO  THE   DICTES  AND   SAYINGS  OF  THE 
PHILOSOPHERS 

Here  endeth  the  book  named  the  dictes  or  sayings  of  the  philoso- 
phers, imprinted  by  me,  William  Caxton,  at  Westminster,  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1477.  Which  book  is  late  translated  out  of  French  into 
English,  by  the  noble  and  puissant  lord.  Lord  Anthony,  Earl  of  Rivers, 
lord  of  Scales  and  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  Defender  and  Director  of  the 
siege  apostolic  for  our  holy  Father  the  Pope,  in  this  realm  of 
England,  and  governor  of  my  lord  Prince  of  Wales.  And  it  is  so 
that  at  such  time  as  he  had  accomplished  this  said  work,  it  liked 
him  to  send  it  to  me  in  certain  quires  to  oversee,  which  forthwith 
I  saw  and  found  therein  many  great,  notable,  and  wise  sayings  of 
the  philosophers,  according  unto  the  books  made  in  French  which 
I  had  oft  afore  read,  but  certainly  I  had  seen  none  in  English  till 
that  time.  And  so  afterward,  I  came  unto  my  said  lord,  and  told 
him  how  I  had  read  and  seen  his  book,  and  that  he  had  done  a 
meritory  deed  in  the  labour  of  the  translation  thereof  into  our 
English  tongue,  wherein  he  had  deserved  a  singular  laud  and 
thank,  etc.  Then  my  said  lord  desired  me  to  oversee  it  and, 
whereas  I  should  find  fault,  to  correct  it  ;  wherein  I  answered  unto 
his  lordship  that  I  could  not  amend  it,  but  if  I  should  so  presume 
I  might  apaire  it,  for  it  was  right  well  and  cunningly  made  and 
translated  into  right  good  and  fair  English.  Notwithstanding  he 
willed  me  to  oversee  it,  and  showed  me  divers  things  which  as  him 
seemed,  might  be  left  out,  as  divers  letters  missives  sent  from 
Alexander  to  Darius  and  Aristotle  and  each  to  other,  which  letters 
were  little  pertinent  unto  the  dictes  and  sayings  aforesaid  forasmuch 
as  they  specify  of  other  matters,  and  also  desired  me,  that  done, 
to  put  the  said  book  in  print.  And  thus,  obeying  his  request  and 
commandment,  I  have  put  me  in  devoir  to  oversee  this  his  said 
book,  and  behold,  as  nigh  as  I  could,  how  it  accordeth  with  the 
original,  being  in  French.    And  I  find  nothing  discordant  therein, 


WILLIAM  CAXTON 


save  only  in  the  dictes  and  sayings  of  Socrates.  Wherein  I  find 
that  my  said  lord  hath  left  out  certain  and  divers  conclusions 
touching  women.  Whereof  I  marvel  that  my  said  lord  hath  not 
written  them,  nor  what  hath  moved  him  so  to  do,  nor  what  cause 
he  had  at  that  time.  But  I  suppose  that  some  fair  lady  hath 
desired  him  to  leave  it  out  of  his  book,  or  else  he  was  amorous  on 
some  noble  lady,  for  whose  love  he  would  not  set  it  in  his  book,  or 
else  for  the  very  affection,  love,  and  goodwill  that  he  hath  unto  all 
ladies  and  gentlewomen,  he  thought  that  Socrates  spared  the  sooth 
and  wrote  of  women  more  than  truth,  which  I  cannot  think  that  so 
true  a  man  and  so  noble  a  philosopher  as  Socrates  was  should 
write  otherwise  than  truth.  For  if  he  had  made  fault  in  writing 
of  women,  he  ought  not  nor  should  not  be  believed  in  his  other 
dictes  and  sayings.  But  I  apperceive  that  my  said  lord  knoweth 
verily  that  such  defaults  be  not  had  nor  found  in  the  women  born 
and  dwelling  in  these  parts  nor  regions  of  the  world.  Socrates 
was  a  Greek  born  in  a  far  country  from  hence,  which  country  is 
all  of  other  conditions  than  this  is.  And  men  and  women  of  other 
nature  than  they  be  here  in  this  country.  For  I  wot  well,  of  what- 
somever  condition  women  be  in  Greece,  the  women  of  this  country 
be  right  good,  wise,  pleasant,  humble,  discreet,  sober,  chaste, 
obedient  to  their  husbands,  true,  secret,  stedfast,  ever  busy  and 
never  idle,  attemperate  in  speaking,  and  virtuous  in  all  their  works, 
or  at  least  should  be  so.  For  which  causes  so  evident  my  said 
lord,  as  I  suppose,  thought  it  was  not  of  necessity  to  set  in  his 
book  the  sayings  of  his  author  Socrates  touching  women.  But, 
forasmuch  as  I  had  commandment  of  my  said  lord  to  correct  and 
amend  whereas  I  should  find  fault,  and  other  find  I  none  save  that 
he  has  left  out  these  dictes  and  sayings  of  the  women  of  Greece. 
Therefore  in  accomplishing  his  commandment,  forasmuch  as  I  am 
not  in  certain  whether  it  was  in  my  lord's  copy  or  not,  or  else  per- 
adventure  that  the  wind  had  blown  over  the  leaf,  at  the  time  of 
translation  of  his  book,  I  purpose  to  write  those  same  sayings  of 
that  Greek  Socrates,  which  wrote  of  the  women  of  Greece  and 
nothing  of  them  of  this  realm,  whom  I  suppose  he  never  knew. 
For  if  he  had,  I  dare  plainly  say  that  he  would  have  reserved  them 
J  in  especial  in  his  said  dictes.  Alway  not  presuming  to  put  and  set 
them  in  my  said  lord's  book,  but  in  the  end  apart  in  the  rehearsal 
of  the  works,  humbly  requiring  all  them  that  shall  read  this  little 
rehearsal  that  if  they  find  any  fault  to  arette  it  to  Socrates  and  not 
to  me. 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFDRWA 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


PIETY  OF   KING  HENRY  THE  FIFTH. 

Here  is  to  be  noted  that  this  King  Harry  the  fifth  was  a  much 
noble  prince  after  he  was  king  and  crowned,  howbeit  tofore  in  his 
youth  he  had  been  wild,  reckless,  and  spared  nothing  of  his  lusts 
nor  desires,  but  accomplished  them  after  his  liking.  But  as  soon 
as  he  was  crowned,  anointed,  and  sacred,  anon  suddenly  he  was 
changed  into  a  new  man  and  set  all  his  intent  to  live  virtuously  in 
maintaining  of  holy  church,  destroying  of  heretics,  keeping  justice 
and  defending  his  realm  and  subjects.  And  forasmuch  as  his 
father  had  deposed  by  his  labour  the  good  King  Richard  and 
piteously  made  him  to  die,  and  for  the  offence  done  to  him  against 
his  allegiance,  he  had  sent  to  Rome  to  be  assoiled  thereof.  For 
which  ofifence  the  pope,  our  holy  father,  enjoined  him  to  make  him 
be  prayed  for  perpetually  and,  like  as  he  had  done  to  be  taken 
from  him  his  natural  life,  therefore  he  should  do  found  four  tapers 
to  burn  perpetually  about  his  body  that,  for  the  extinction  of  his 
bodily  life,  his  soul  may  ever  be  remembered,  and  live  in  Heaven 
in  spiritual  life.  And  also  that  he  should,  every  week,  on  the  day 
as  it  Cometh  about  of  his  death,  have  a  solemn  mass  of  Requiem, 
and,  on  the  even  tofore,  a  dirige  with  nine  lessons,  and  a  dole 
to  poor  people,  alway  on  that  day,  of  enleven  shillings  eight  pence, 
to  be  dealed  penny  meal.  And  once  in  the  year,  at  his  anniversary, 
his  terment  to  be  holden  in  the  most  honest  wise,  and  to  be  dealed 
that  day  twenty  pounds  in  pence  to  poor  people,  and  to  every 
monk  to  have  twenty  shillings  ;  which  all  these  things  performed 
this  noble  King  for  his  father.  For  King  Harry  the  fourth,  his 
father,  performed  it  not  during  his  life,  whom,  as  it  is  said,  God 
touched  and  was  a  leper  ere  he  died.  Also  then  this  noble  prince 
let  do  call  all  the  abbots  and  priors  of  saint  Benedict's  order  in 
England,  and  had  them  in  the  Chapter  House  of  Westminster,  for 
the  reformation  of  the  order,  wherein  he  had  communication,  and 
also  with  bishops  and  men  of  the  spirituality,  in  so  forth  that  they 
doubted  sore  that  he  would  have  had  the  temporalities  out  of  their 
hands.  Wherefore,  by  the  advice,  labour,  and  procuring  of  the 
spirituality,  encouraged  the  King  to  challenge  Normandy  and  his 
right  that  he  had  in  France,  to  the  end  to  set  him  a  work  there 
that  he  should  not  seek  occasions  to  enter  into  such  matters.  And 
so,  all  his  life  after,  he  laboured  in  the  wars  in  conquering  great 
part  of  the  realm  of  France,  that  by  the  agreement  of  the   King 


WILLIAM  CAXTON  103 


Charles,  he  had  all  the  governance  of  the  realm  of  France,  and 
was  proclaimed  rey;ent  and  heir  of  France.  And  so,  notwithstand- 
ing all  this  great  war  that  he  had,  yet  he  remembered  his  soul  and 
also  that  he  was  mortal  and  must  die.  For  which  he  ordained, 
by  his  life,  the  place  of  his  sepulchre  where  he  is  now  buried,  and 
every  day  three  masses  perpetually  to  be  sung  in  a  fair  chapel  over 
his  sepulchre. 

(From  Caxton's  continuation  of  Trevisa's  Polycrofttcon.) 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  TRUE  KNIGHT 

The  knight  ought  to  be  made  all  armed  upon  an  apt  horse,  in 
such  wise  that  he  have  an  helmet  on  his  head,  and  a  spear  in  his 
right  hand,  and  covered  with  his  shield  ;  a  sword  and  a  mace  on 
his  left  side  ;  clad  with  an  hauberk  and  plates  before  his  breast  ; 
leg  harness  on  his  legs  ;  spurs  on  his  heels,  on  his  hands  his 
gauntlets.  His  horse  well  broken  and  taught,  and  apt  to  battle, 
and  covered  with  his  arms.  When  the  knights  be  made  they  be 
bayned  or  bathed.  That  is  the  sign  that  they  should  lead  a  new 
'life  and  new  manners,  also  they  wake  all  the  night  in  prayers  and 
orisons  unto  God  that  He  will  give  them  grace  that  they  may  get 
that  thing  that  they  may  not  get  by  nature.  The  king  or  prince 
girdeth  about  them  a  sword,  in  sign  that  they  should  abide  and 
keep  him  of  whom  they  take  their  dispences  and  dignity. 

Also  a  knight  ought  to  be  wise,  liberal,  true,  strong,  and  full 
of  mercy  and  pity,  and  keeper  of  the  people  and  of  the  law,  and 
right  as  chivalry  passeth  other  in  virtue,  in  dignity,  in  honour, 
and  in  reverence,  right  so  ought  he  to  surmount  all  other  in 
virtue  ;  for  honour  is  nothing  else  but  to  do  reverence  to  another 
person  for  the  good  and  virtuous  disposition  that  is  in  him.  A 
noble  knight  ought  to  be  wise  and  proved  before  he  be  made 
knight,  it  behoveth  him  that  he  had  long  time  used  the  war  and 
arms  ;  that  he  may  be  expert  and  wise  for  to  govern  others.  For 
sith  that  a  knight  is  captain  of  a  battle,  the  life  of  them  that  shall 
be  under  him  lieth  in  his  hand,  and  therefore  behoveth  him  to  be 
wise  and  well  advised.  For  sometimes  art,  craft,  and  engine  is 
more  worth  than  strength  or  hardiness  of  a  man  that  is  not 
proved  in  arms,  for  otherwhile  it  happeth  that  when  the  prince  of 
the  battle  affyeth  and  trusteth  in  his  hardiness  and  strength,  and 


I04  ENGLISH  PROSE 


will  not  use  wisdom  and  engine  for  to  run  upon  his  enemies,  he  is 
vanquished  and  his  people  slain.  Therefore  saith  the  philosopher 
that  no  man  should  choose  young  people  to  be  captains  and 
governors,  forasmuch  as  there  is  no  certainty  in  their  wisdom. 
Alexander  of  Macedon  vanquished  and  conquered  Egypt,  Judaea, 
Chaldee,  Africa,  and  Assyria  unto  the  marches  of  Bragmans  more 
by  the  counsel  of  old  men  than  by  the  strength  of  the  young 
men.  We  read  in  the  history  of  Rome  that  there  was  a  knight, 
which  had  to  name  Malechete,  that  was  so  wise  and  true  that 
when  the  emperor  Theodosius  was  dead,  he  made  mortal  war 
against  his  brother  germane  which  was  named  Gyldo  or  Guy, 
forasmuch  as  this  said  Guy  would  be  lord  of  Africa  without  leave 
and  will  of  the  senators  ;  and  this  said  Guy  had  slain  the  two 
sons  of  his  brother  Malechete,  and  did  much  torment  unto  the 
Christian  people,  and  afore  that  he  should  come  into  the  field 
against  his  brother  Guyon,  he  went  to  an  isle  of  Capayre  and  led 
with  him  all  the  Christian  men  that  had  been  sent  thither  in 
exile,  and  made  them  all  to  pray  with  him  by  the  space  of  three 
days  and  three  nights.  For  he  had  great  affiance  and  trust  in 
the  prayers  and  orisons  of  good  folk  and  specially  that  no  man 
might  counsel  nor  help  but  God.  And  three  days  before  he 
should  fight,  Saint  Ambrose,  which  was  dead  a  little  before, 
appeared  to  him,  and  shewed  him  by  revelation  the  time  and 
hour  that  he  should  have  victory.  And  forsomuch  as  he  had 
been  three  days  and  three  nights  in  orisons  and  prayers,  and  that 
he  was  assured  for  to  have  victory,  he  fought  with  five  thousand 
men  against  his  brother  that  had  in  his  company  four  score 
thousand  men  ;  and  by  God's  help  he  had  victory.  And  when 
the  barbarians  that  were  come  to  help  Guy  saw  the  discomfiture 
they  fled  away.  And  Guy  fled  also  into  Africa  by  ship.  And 
when  he  was  there  arrived,  he  was  soon  after  strangled.  These 
two  knights  of  whom  I  speak  were  two  brethren  germane,  which 
were  sent  into  Africa  for  to  defend  the  commonweal. 

In  likewise  Judas  Maccabeus,  Jonathas  and  Simon  his 
brethren,  put  themselves  in  the  mercy  and  guard  of  our  lord  God, 
and  against  the  enemies  of  the  law  of  God,  with  little  people  in 
regard  of  the  multitude  that  were  against  them,  and  had  also 
victory.  The  knights  ought  to  be  true  to  their  princes,  for  he 
that  is  not  true  loseth  the  name  of  a  knight.  Unto  a  prince  truth 
is  the  greatest  precious  stone  when  it  is  meddled  with  justice. 
Paul,  the  histographier  of  the   Lombards,   rehearseth  that  there 


WILLIAM  CAXTON-  105 


was  a  knight  named  Enulphus,  and  was  of  the  city  of  Pavia,  that 
was  so  true  and  faithful  to  his  lord  and  king  named  Patharick 
that  he  put  him  in  peril  of  death  for  him.  For  it  happened  that 
Grimald  Duke  of  Buneventayns,  of  whom  we  have  touched  before 
in  the  chapter  of  the  queen,  did  do  slay  Godibert  which  was  king 
of  the  Lombards  by  the  hand  of  Goribcrt  duke  of  Tarent,  which 
was  descended  of  the  crown  of  Lombardy.  And  this  Grimald 
was  made  king  of  Lombardy  in  his  place,  and  after  this  put  and 
banished  out  of  the  country  this  Patharick  which  was  brother 
unto  the  king  Godibert,  that  for  fear  and  dread  fled  into  Hungary. 
And  then  this  knight  Enulphus  did  so  much  that  he  got  the 
peace  again  of  his  lord  Patharick  against  the  king  Grimald,  and 
that  he  had  license  to  come  out  of  Hungary  where  he  was  always 
in  peril,  and  so  he  came  and  cried  him  mercy.  And  the  king 
Grimald  gave  him  leave  to  dwell  and  to  live  honestly  in  his 
country,  always  foreseen  that  he  took  not  upon  him  and  named 
himself  king,  how  well  he  was  king  by  right.  This  done,  a  little 
while  after,  the  king  that  believed  evil  tongues,  thought  in  him- 
self how  he  might  bring  this  Patharick  unto  the  death  ;  and  all 
this  knew  well  the  knight  Enulphus,  which  came  the  same  night 
with  his  squire  for  to  visit  his  lord,  and  made  his  squire  to 
unclothe  him  and  to  lie  in  the  bed  of  his  lord,  and  made  his  lord 
to  rise  and  clothe  him  with  the  clothes  of  his  squire,  and  in  this 
wise  brought  him  out,  brawling  and  beating  him  as  his  servant, 
by  them  that  were  assigned  to  keep  the  house  of  Patharick  that 
he  should  not  escape.  Which  supposed  that  it  had  been  his 
squire  that  he  entreated  so  outrageously,  and  so  he  brought  him 
unto  his  house  which  joined  with  the  walls  of  the  town.  And  at 
midnight,  when  all  men  were  asleep,  he  let  adown  his  master  by 
a  cord.  Which  took  an  horse  out  of  the  pasture,  and  fled  unto 
the  city  of  Aast,  and  there  came  to  the  king  of  France.  And 
when  it  came  unto  the  morn,  it  was  found  that  Enulphus  and 
his  squire  had  deceived  the  king  and  the  watchmen,  whom  the 
king  commanded  should  be  brought  tofore  him,  and  demanded  of 
them  the  manner  how  he  was  escaped,  and  they  told  him  the 
truth.  Then  the  king  demanded  his  council  of  what  death  they 
had  deserved  to  die  that  had  so  done  and  wrought  against  the 
will  of  him.  Some  said  that  they  should  be  hanged  and  some 
said  they  should  be  flayed,  and  others  said  that  they  should  be 
beheaded.  Then  said  the  king  ;  By  that  Lord  that  made  me, 
they  be  not  worthy  to  die,  but  for  to   have  much   worship   and 


io6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


honour,  for  they  have  been  true  to  their  lord.  Wherefore  the 
king  gave  them  great  laud  and  honour  for  their  feat.  And  after 
it  happened  that  the  proper  squire  and  servant  of  Godibert  slew 
the  traitor  Goribald,  that  by  treason  had  slain  his  lord  at  a  feast 
of  Saint  John  in  his  city  of  Tarent,  whereof  he  was  lord  and 
duke.  Thus  ought  the  knights  to  love  together,  and  each  to  put 
his  life  in  adventure  for  other  ;  for  so  be  they  the  stronger  and 
the  more  doubted,  like  as  were  the  noble  knights  Joab  and 
Abysay  that  fought  against  the  Syrians  and  Ammonites  and 
were  so  true,  that  one  to  that  other,  that  they  vanquished  their 
enemies,  and  were  so  joined  together,  that  if  the  Syrians  were 
stronger  than  that  one  of  them,  that  other  helped  him.  We  read 
that  Damon  and  Phisias  were  so  right  perfect  friends  together, 
that  when  Dionysius  which  was  king  of  Sicily  had  judged  one  to 
death  for  his  trespass  in  the  city  of  Syracuse,  whom  he  would 
have  executed,  he  desired  grace  and  leave  to  go  into  his  country 
for  to  dispose  and  ordain  his  testament.  And  his  fellow  pledged 
him  and  was  surety  for  him  upon  his  head  that  he  should  come 
again,  whereof  they  that  heard  and  saw  this,  held  him  for  a  fool 
and  blamed  him.  And  he  said  always  that  he  repented  him 
nothing  at  all,  for  he  knew  well  the  truth  of  his  fellow.  And 
when  the  day  came  and  the  hour  that  execution  should  be  done, 
his  fellow  came  and  presented  himself  before  the  judge,  and 
discharged  his  fellow  that  was  pledge  for  him.  Whereof  the  king 
was  greatly  abashed,  and  for  the  great  irouth  that  was  found  in 
him,  he  pardoned  him,  and  prayed  them  both  that  they  would 
receive  him  as  their  great  friend  and  fellow.  Lo  here  the  virtues 
of  love,  that  a  man  ought  not  to  doubt  the  death  for  his  friend. 
Lo  what  it  is  to  do  for  a  friend,  and  to  lead  a  life  debonnair,  and 
to  be  without  cruelty  ;  to  love  and  not  to  hate,  which  causeth  to 
do  good  against  evil  ;  and  to  turn  pain  into  benefit  and  to  quench 
cruelty. 

The  very  true  love  of  the  common  weal  and  profit  nowadays 
is  seldom  found.  Where  shalt  thou  find  a  man  in  these  days 
that  will  expose  himself  for  the  worship  and  honour  of  his  friend, 
or  for  the  common  weal.  Seldom  or  never  shall  he  be  found. 
Also  the  knights  should  be  large  and  liberal,  for  when  a  knight 
hath  regard  unto  his  singular  profit  by  his  covetousness,  he 
despoiletli  his  people.  For  when  the  soldiers  see  that  they  put 
them  in  peril,  and  their  master  will  not  pay  them  their  wages 
liberally,  but  intendeth  to  his  own  proper  gain  and  profit,  then, 


WILLIAM  CAXTON  107 


when  the  enemies  come,  they  turn  soon  their  backs  and  flee 
oftentimes.  And  thus  it  happeth  by  him  that  intendeth  more  to 
get  money  than  victory,  that  his  avarice  is  ofttimes  cause  of  his 
confusion.  Then  let  every  knight  take  heed  to  be  hberal,  in 
such  wise  that  he  ween  not  nor  suppose  that  his  scarcity  be  to 
him  a  great  winning  or  gain.  And  for  this  cause  he  be  the  less 
loved  of  his  people,  and  that  his  adversary  withdraw  to  him  them 
by  large  giving.  For  ofttime  battle  is  advanced  more  for  getting 
of  silver  than  by  the  force  and  strength  of  men.  For  men  see 
all  day  that  such  things  as  may  not  be  achieved  by  force  of 
nature  be  gotten  and  achieved  by  force  of  money.  And  forso- 
much  it  behoveth  to  see  well  to  that  when  the  time  of  battle 
Cometh,  that  he  borrow  not  nor  make  no  taillage.  For  no  man 
may  be  rich  that  leaveth  his  own,  hoping  to  get  and  take  of 
others.  Then  alway  all  their  gain  and  winning  ought  to  be 
common  among  them  except  their  arms.  For  in  like  wise  as  the 
victory  is  common,  so  should  the  despoil  and  booty  be  common 
unto  them.  And  therefore  David,  that  gentle  knight  in  the  first 
book  of  Kings  in  the  last  chapter,  made  a  law  :  that  he  that 
abode  behind  by  malady  or  sickness  in  the  tents  should  have  as 
much  part  of  the  booty  as  he  that  had  been  in  the  battle.  And 
for  the  love  of  this  law  he  was  made  afterward  King  of  Israel. 
Alexander  of  Macedon  came  in  a  time  like  a  simple  knight  unto 
the  court  of  Porus,  King  of  Ind,  for  to  espy  the  estate  of  the  king 
and  of  the  knights  of  the  court.  And  the  king  received  him 
right  worshipfully,  and  demanded  of  him  many  things  of  Alexander 
and  of  his  constancy  and  strength,  nothing  weening  that  he  had 
been  Alexander,  but  Antigone  one  of  his  knights.  And  after  he 
had  him  to  dinner ;  and  when  they  had  served  Alexander  in 
vessel  of  gold  and  silver  with  diverse  meats,  after  that  he  had 
eaten  such  as  pleased  him,  he  voided  the  meat  and  took  the 
vessel  and  held  it  to  himself  and  put  it  in  his  bosom  or  sleeves. 
Whereof  he  was  accused  unto  the  king.  After  dinner  then  the 
king  called  him  and  demanded  him  wherefore  he  had  taken  his 
vessel,  and  he  answered  :  Sir  King,  my  lord,  I  pray  thee  to 
understand  and  take  heed  thyself  and  also  thy  knights.  I  have 
heard  much  of  thy  great  highness,  and  that  thou  art  more  mighty 
and  puissant  in  chivalry  and  in  dispences  than  is  Alexander,  and 
therefore  I  am  come  to  thee,  a  poor  knight,  which  am  named 
Antigone,  for  to  serve  thee.  Then  it  is  the  custom  in  the  court 
of  Alexander  that  what  thing  a  knight  is  served  with,  all  is  his, 


io8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


meat  and  vessel  and  cup.  And  therefore  I  had  supposed  that 
this  custom  had  been  kept  in  thy  court,  for  thou  art  richer  than 
he.  When  the  knights  heard  this,  anon  they  left  Porus,  and 
went  to  serve  Alexander,  and  thus  he  drew  to  him  the  hearts  of 
them  by  gifts,  which  afterward  slew  Porus  that  was  King  of  Ind, 
and  they  made  Alexander  king  thereof  Therefore  remember, 
knight,  alway  that  with  a  closed  and  shut  purse  shalt  thou  never 
have  victory.  Ovid  saith  that  he  that  taketh  gifts,  he  is  glad 
therewith,  for  they  win  with  gifts  the  hearts  of  the  gods  and  of 
men. 

(From  The  Game  and  Play  of  C/iess.) 


ROBERT   FABYAN 

[Fabyan  seems  to  have  belonged  to  a  family  of  some  consideration  in  the 
city  of  London,  and  was  probably  born  in  London  rather  before  the  middle 
of  the  fifteenth  century.  His  history  gives  us  sufficient  evidence  of  his  high 
respect  for,  and  intimate  acquaintance  with,  the  municipal  institutions  of  his 
native  city ;  and  in  the  latest  decade  of  the  century  he  served  as  alderman  and 
sheriff,  and  discharged  various  functions  as  a  representative  citizen.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  Difipers'  Company;  and  lived  in  the  parish  of  St.  Michael's, 
Cornhill,  in  London,  and  at  his  mansion  of  Halsteds  at  Theydon  Gemon, 
Esse.x.      He  died  in  151 1.] 

Fabyan's  history  was  called  by  himself  The  Concordance  oj 
Histories^  and  it  is  important  as  showing  the  first  attempt,  earnest 
although  uncritical,  to  weigh  authorities  against  one  another.  In 
style  and  matter,  with  all  its  roughness,  it  is  quite  as  far  advanced 
beyond  Trevisa's  translation  of  Higden's  Polychronicon  as  the 
century  which  separates  them  would  lead  us  to  expect.  He  was 
evidently  acquainted  both  with  Latin  and  French,  and  had  studied 
carefully  a  vast  number  of  authorities  in  both  languages.  His 
narrative,  bald  though  it  is  both  in  style  and  matter,  is  not  with- 
out some  grace  of  quaintness  ;  and  this  is  increased  by  his  habit 
of  introducing  a  i&w  lines  of  Latin  poetry,  to  point  a  moral  or  to 
recall  an  epitaph,  and  adding  a  metrical  translation  of  his  own. 
His  interest  in  such  literary  devices  is  further  proved  by  his  care- 
fully prescribing  in  his  will  the  inscription,  in  Latin  and  English 
verse,  which  is  to  be  placed  upon  his  tomb.  He  is  entirely  with- 
out any  sense  of  historical  proportion,  and  gives  us  the  most 
trifling  events  in  as  full  detail  as  the  most  important,  introducing 
more  than  once  a  complete  list  of  the  dishes  at  a  royal  feast.  His 
respect  for  preceding  authorities,  however  fabulous  their  tales,  was 
tempered  only  by  the  fact  that  they  did  not  all  agree  ;  and  his 
reverence,  as  a  substantial  city  burgess,  for  the  rulers  of  the  land 
was  tempered  only  by  his  devout  attachment  to  the  Church  which 
109 


110  ENGLISH  PROSE 


these  rulers  sometimes  offended,  and  by  the  maxims  of  morahty 
which  he  conceived  it  to  be  the  chief  duty  of  the  historian  to  in- 
culcate, and  which  these  rulers  often  infringed.  How  he  recon- 
ciled his  allegiance  and  his  conscience  may  be  seen  by  his  quoting 
the  words  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  concerning  Henry  II.  : 
"  Dreadful  it  is  to  allege  against  him  that  may  put  a  man  out 
of  land,  and  to  describe  him  with  many  words  that  may  exile  a 
man  with  one  word  :  wherefore  it  were  a  notable  deed  to  tell  the 
sooth  of  a  prince's  deeds,  and  offend  the  prince  in  no  mean  ;  but 
yet  when  the  prince  is  dead  and  gone,  then  will  men  talk  without 
fear  that  beforetime  they  spared  for  fear." 

The  prose  style  of  Fabyan  shows  very  little  advance  towards 
grace  of  composition,  and  retains  for  the  most  part  abundant 
traces  of  the  style  of  the  Chronicle,  upon  which  he  based  his 
narrative.  This  is  naturally  most  apparent  in  the  earlier  part  of 
his  work,  which  starts  from  the  fables  about  Brute  and  his  con- 
quest of  Britain.  The  first  six  parts  of  the  History  cover  the 
period  down  to  the  Norman  Conquest  ;  and  the  reader  feels  at 
the  end  inclined  to  agree  with  the  spirit  of  the  author's  envoi : 

Now  shaketh  my  hand,  my  pen  waxeth  dull, 
For  wearied  and  tired  :  seeing  this  work  so  long, 
The  authors  so  raw,  and  so  far  culled, 
Dim  and  dark,  and  strange  to  understand. 
And  far  out  of  tune,  to  make  true  song. 
The  stories  and  the  years  to  make  accordant. 
That  it  to  the  reader  might  show  true  and  pleasant. 

But  after  the  Conquest,  in  the  seventh  part,  which  forms  two-thirds 
of  the  whole,  the  narrative  becomes  more  interesting,  even  though 
the  style  continues  bald  and  uncouth,  and  the  cadence  of  the 
sentence  is  entirely  wanting  ;  and  when  we  come  down  to  the 
later  centuries  the  story  is  occasionally  even  graphic  and  forcible, 
and  sometimes  becomes  ornate  in  description.  In  Fabyan,  in- 
deed, we  see  how  style  advanced,  as  history  became  something 
more  than  a  series  of  fables  more  or  less  slavishly  compiled  from 
preceding  chroniclers.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  he  has  Froissart's 
work  before  him  ;  although  Fabyan  had  not  the  artistic  sense 
which  enabled  Berners,  a  few  years  later,  to  make  such  splendid 
use  of  the  French  model. 

Fabyan  seems  to  have  carried  on  the  work  into  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.,  although  his  death  occurred  only  about  two  years 
after  Henry's  accession.      It  was  first  printed,  by  Pynson,  in  1516: 


ROBERT  FA  BY  AN 


but  some  expressions  employed  by  Fabyan,  with  regard  to  the 
wealth  of  the  Church,  seem  to  have  provoked  the  wrath  of  Wolsey, 
and  by  his  orders  part  of  that  edition  was  destroyed.  A  second 
edition  appeared  in  1533  ;  and  a  third,  carrying  down  the  narra- 
tive to  the  thirty-second  year  of  Henry  VIII.,  in  1542.  The 
ecclesiastical  changes  which  had  occurred  in  the  interval  led  to 
considerable  modifications  in  the  text,  particularly  in  regard  to 
the  treatment  of  the  struggles  between  the  Church  and  the  Crown, 
and  the  respect  shown  to  the  papal  authority. 

The  modern  edition  is  that   published  in  181 1  by  Henry  Ellis, 
and  is  an  admirable  model  of  editorial  work. 

H.  Craik. 


CHARLEMAGNE. 

After  this  time  and  season,  many  great  and  noble  deeds  were 
done  by  this  said  Charles,  and  by  his  sons  and  captains  under 
him,  and  by  his  commandment.  And  for  the  personage  of  so 
noble  a  prince  should  be  had  in  mind,  therefore  divers  authors 
testify  that  he  was  fair  and  well-faring  of  body,  and  stern  of  look 
and  of  face  ;  his  body  was  eight  foot  long,  and  his  arms  and 
legs  well  lengthed  and  strengthed  after  the  proportion  of  the 
body  ;  his  face  of  a  span  broad,  and  his  beard  very  long.  Of  his 
strength  wonders  are  told  ;  he  would  at  one  meal  eat  an  whole 
hare,  or  two  hens,  or  an  whole  goose,  or  a  like  quantity  of  other 
meat,  and  drink  thereto  a  little  wine  mingled  with  water.  Among 
his  other  notable  deeds,  he  made  a  bridge  over  the  river  of  Rhine, 
of  five  hundred  pace  long,  by  the  city  of  Mayence  ;  and  he 
builded,  as  witnesseth  Antoninus,  and  other,  as  many  abbeys  and 
monasteries,  as  there  be  letters  in  the  cross  row  of  the  ABC; 
and  in  the  front  of  either  of  the  said  abbeys,  after  the  time  of 
their  foundation,  he  pyght  or  set  a  letter  of  gold  of  the  value  of 
an  hundred  pound  tttr/wys,  which  is  near  to  the  value  of  English 
money  now  current,  twenty  mark  for  a  pound  turnoys  is  much 
like  2s.  8d.  sterling  ;  and  a  pound  Parisian  is  near  upon  4od. 
sterling  :  but  it  standeth  at  no  certainty  for  heighting  and  lowing 
of  their  coins.  He  also  builded  or  new  reedified  the  city  of 
Aguysgrany,  and  endowed  the  church  of  Our  Lady  there,  with 
many  great  gifts  and  precious  relics,  which  yet  remain  there  to 
this  day  ;  in  which  city,  and  near  about,  he  used  much  to  abide 
and  lie.  And  for  his  great  deeds  and  victories  he  deserved  to  be 
named  Charles  the  Great,  and  for  all  his  great  might  and  honour, 
yet  that  notwithstanding,  he  was  meek  and  lowly  in  his  heart, 
mild  and  gracious  to  the  poor,  and  merciful  to  wretches  and 
needy,  and  set  his  sons  to  learn,  as  well  letters,  as  martial  and 
knightly  feats  ;  and  his  daughter  he  set  to  spinning  and  wool 
work.     And   he   was   expert   in  all  speeches,  so  that  he  needed 

112 


ROBER  T  FAB  YAN  113 


none  interpreters  to  explain  or  express  to  him  the  messages  of 
strange  ambassadors  ;  and  in  the  time  of  his  dinner  or  meals,  he 
used  to  have  read  before  him  lessons  and  epistles  ;  and  specially 
of  the  works  of  Saint  Austen,  de  Civitate  Dei.  In  him  was  no 
thing  to  be  discommended,  but  that  he  held  his  daughter  so  long 
unmarried.  This  noble  man  Charles,  three  years  before  his 
death,  he  had  peace  with  all  countries,  as  well  such  as  were 
obeisant  unto  the  empire,  as  such  as  longed  to  his  dominion  of 
France.  In  the  which  time  of  rest,  among  other  godly  and 
virtuous  deeds,  he  made  his  testament,  and  distributed  his  tern 
poral  moveable  goods  in  three  parts  ;  whereof  two  parts  he  gave 
to  maintaining  of  bishops  and  other  ministers  of  the  church,  and 
for  the  reparation  of  churches,  and  necessaries  to  the  same,  and 
to  the  maintaining  of  the  divine  service  of  God,  with  also  the  aid 
and  feeding  of  poor  and  needy  people  ;  and  the  third  part  to  his 
children  and  other  of  his  ally.  Ye  shall  understand  this  Charles 
had  in  his  treasury  specially  noted,  before  his  other  jewels,  four 
tables  or  boards,  whereof  three  were  of  silver  and  the  fourth  of 
gold.  In  one  was  graven  the  likeness  of  the  city  of  Constantine 
the  Noble  ;  the  which'he  bequathe  to  the  Church  of  Rome.  In 
another  was  graven  or  wrought,  the  likeness  of  the  city  of  Rome  ; 
and  that  he  gave  to  the  bishop  of  Rheims  and  to  his  church  ;  and 
the  third  table  of  silver  wherein  was  graven  the  Map-pa  Miittdi ; 
and  the  fourth  of  gold,  he  gave  to  his  sons.  Many  things  there 
were,  and  causes  of  the  exalting  of  the  fame  of  this  prince.  But 
among  other,  one  is  specially  remembered  of  mine  author  :  Gag- 
wyne,  the  King  of  Persia,  then  ruling  a  great  part  of  the  Orient, 
sent  unto  Charles  an  ambassade  honourable  with  many  rich 
presents  :  among  the  which  was  an  horologe  or  a  clock  of  laten, 
of  a  wonder  artificial  making,  that  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and 
night,  when  the  said  clock  should  strike,  images  on  horseback 
appeared  out  of  sundry  places,  and  after  departed  again  by  mean 
of  certain  vices.  He  sent  to  him  also  tents  of  rich  silk,  and  balm 
natural,  with  certain  elephants,  requiring  him  of  amity  and  friend- 
ship ;  and  in  hke  wise  did  the  emperor  of  Constantine  the  Noble. 
Albeit  that  he,  in  his  mind,  was  not  "well  contented  that  the  pope 
had  in  that  wise  divided  the  empire,  and  set  such  a  man  of  might 
in  the  room  thereof  This  Charles  had  divers  wives  ;  but  of  the 
second,  named  Eldegard  he  received  three  sons  ;  that  is  to  say, 
Lewis,  Pepin,  and  Charles  ;  the  which  Pepin  he  made  King  of 
Longobards  or  Italy,  as  before  is  showed  of  his  notable  deeds. 
VOL.  I  I 


1 1  ].  ENGLISH  PROSE 


What  should  I  longer  hold  process  of  this  great  conqueror  ?  For 
like  as  I  before  shewed,  of  his  notable  deeds  might  I  make  a 
great  volume  if  I  should  of  them  shew  the  clearness,  and  the 
circumstance  of  every  conquest  that  he  in  his  time  achieved. 
But  death  that  is  to  all  persons  equal,  lastly  took  him  in  his  dim 
dance,  when  he  had  been  King  of  France,  with  his  brother,  and 
alone  forty-seven  years  ;  of  the  which  he  ruled  the  empire,  as 
before  is  shewed,  fourteen  years ;  in  the  year  of  his  age,  as  saith 
the  French  chronicles,  seventy- two,  and  was  buried  at  Aquys- 
grany  with  great  pomp,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord's  incarnation 
thirteen  hundred  and  fifteen,  with  this  superscription  upon  his 
tomb  :  "  Caroli  Magni  Cristianissimi  Imperatoris  Romanorum, 
corpus  sub  hoc  sepulcro  conditum  est,"  which  may  be  Englished 
as  followeth  : 

Of  Charles  the  great  and  emperor  most  cristen 
Of  Rome,  the  body  is  hid  this  tomb  within. 


WILLIAM  WITH   THE   LONG   BEARD 

Then  John,  which  had  turned  to  the  French  king  again  his  own 
brother,  seeing  the  fame  and  honour  of  his  brother,  and  feebleness 
of  his  own  power,  made  means  to  Eleanor  his  mother,  by  whose 
mediation  he  was  reconciled  to  his  brother,  the  king,  and  after 
became  his  true  knight.  When  the  king  and  his  brother  John 
were  thus  agreed,  they  rode  over  the  land  to  visit  the  countries, 
and  see  how  they  were  guided  by  the  officers  of  the  king.  Among 
other,  two  there  were,  which  showed  that  they  would  do  many 
things  to  the  king's  profit  ;  the  one  was  abbot  of  Cadonence, 
within  Normandy,  and  that  other  was  named  William  with  the 
long  beard.  The  abbot  warned  the  king  of  the  fraud  of  his 
officers,  whereby  he  thought,  by  the  punishment  of  his  officers  he 
should  win  great  favour  of  the  people.  Then  this  abbot  gat  a 
warrant  of  the  king,  and  at  London  called  divers  officers  before 
him,  for  to  yield  to  him  their'account,  but  he  died  shortly,  so  that 
his  purpose  came  to  small  effect.  And  William  with  the  long 
beard  showed  to  the  king  the  outrage  of  the  rich  men,  which,  as 
he  said,  spared  their  own,  and  pilled  the  poor  people.  It  is  said 
that  this  William  was  born  in  London,  and  purchased  that  name 
by  use  of  his  beard.      He  was  sharp  of  wit  and  some  deal  lettered  ; 


ROBER  T  FA  BYAN  115 


a  bold  man  of  speech,  and  sad  of  his  countenance,  and  took  upon 
him  greater  deeds  than  he  could  wield  :  and  some  he  used  cruel, 
as  appeareth  in  appeaching  his  own  brother  of  treason,  the  which 
was  a  burgess  of  London,  and  to  him  had  shewed  great  kindness 
n  his  youth.  This  William  stirred  and  excited  the  common 
people  to  desire  and  love  freedom  and  liberty,  and  blamed  the 
excess  and  outrage  of  rich  men  :  by  such  means  he  drew  to  him 
many  great  companies,  and  with  all  his  power  defended  the  poor 
m'an's  cause  against  the  rich,  and  accused  divers  to  the  king, 
shewing  that,  by  their  means,  the  king  lost  many  forfeits  and 
escheats.  For  this,  gentlemen  and  men  of  honour  maligned 
again  him,  but  he  had  such  comfort  of  the  king  that  he  kept  on 
his  purpose.  Then  the  king  being  warned  of  the  congregations 
that  this  William  made,  commanded  him  to  cease  of  such  doings, 
that  the  people  might  exercise  their  arts  and  occupations ;  by 
reason  whereof  it  was  left  for  a  while  :  but  it  was  not  long  or  the 
people  followed  him,  as  they  before  that  time  had  done.  Then 
he  made  unto  them  collations  or  exhortations,  and  took  for  his 
antetheme,  Haurietis  aquas  in  gaiidio  de  foiitibus  salvatoris, 
that  is  to  mean,  ye  shall  draw,  in  joy,  waters  of  the  wells  of  our 
saviour:  and  to  this  he  added,  "I  am,"  said  he,  "the  saviour  of 
poor  men  :  ye  be  poor  and  have  assayed  the  hard  hands  of  rich 
men  :  now  draw  ye  therefore  holeful  water  of  love  of  my  wells, 
and  that  with  joy,  for  the  time  of  your  visitation  is  come.  I 
shall,"  said  he,  "  depart  waters  from  waters.  By  waters  I  under- 
stand the  people  ;  then  shall  I  depart  the  people  which  is  good 
and  meek,  from  the  people  that  is  wicked  and  proud,  and  I  shall 
dissever  the  good  and  the  ill,  as  the  light  is  departed  from  the 
darkness."  When  report  of  this  was  brought  to  the  archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  he,  by  counsel  of  the  lords  of  the  spiritualty,  sent 
unto  this  William,  commanding  him  to  appear  before  the  lords  of 
the  king's  council  to  answer  unto  such  matters  as  there  should  be 
laid  unto  him.  At  which  day  this  William  appeared,  having  with 
him  a  multitude  of  people,  in  so  much  that  the  lords  were  of  him 
adrad,  for  the  which  cause  they  remitted  him  with  pleasant  words 
for  the  time,  and  commanded  certain  persons  in  secret  manner,  to 
espy  when  he  were  void  of  his  company,  and  then  to  take  him, 
and  to  put  him  in  sure  keeping,  the  which,  according  to  that 
commandment,  at  time  convenient,  as  they  thought,  set  upon  him 
to  have  taken  him  ;  but  he,  with  an  axe,  resisted  them,  and  slew 
one  of  them,  and  after  fled  to  saint   Mary  Bow  Church,  of  Chepe, 


ii6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  took  that  for  his  safeguard,  defending  him  by  strength,  and 
not  by  the  suffrages  of  the  church  :  for  to  him  drew,  shortly,  great 
multitude  of  people  ;  but  in  short  process,  by  mean  of  the  heads 
and  rulers  of  the  city,  the  people  minished,  so  that,  in  short  time, 
he  was  left  with  few  persons,  and  after,  by  fire,  compelled  to  for- 
sake the  church,  and  so  was  taken,  but  not  without  shedding  of 
blood.  After  which  taking,  he  was  arraigned  before  the  judges, 
and  there,  with  nine  of  his  adherents,  cast  and  judged  to  die,  and 
was  hanged,  and  they  with  him  the  day  following.  But  yet  the 
rumour  ceased  not  :  for  the  common  people  raised  a  great  crime 
upon  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  other,  and  said  that,  by 
their  means,  William,  which  was  an  innocent  of  such  crimes  as 
were  object  and  put  again  him,  and  was  a  defender  of  the  poor 
people  again  extortioners  and  wrongdoers,  was  by  them  put 
wrongfully  to  death  :  approving  him  an  holy  man  and  martyr,  by 
this  tale  following  :  saying,  that  a  man  being  sick  of  the  fevers, 
was  cured  by  virtue  of  a  chain  which  this  William  was  bound 
with  in  time  of  his  duress  of  imprisonment,  which,  by  a  priest  of 
the  ally  of  the  said  William,  was  openly  declared  and  preached, 
whereby  he  brought  the  people  in  such  an  error,  that  they  gave 
credence  to  his  words,  and  secretly,  in  the  night,  conveyed  away 
the  gibbet  that  he  was  hanged  upon,  and  scraped  away  that  blood 
that  was  shed  of  him  when  he  was  taken,  or  else  when  he  was 
headed  and  quartered,  so  that  they  made  there  an  hollow  place  by 
fetching  away  of  that  earth,  and  said  that  sick  men  and  women 
were  cured  of  divers  sicknesses  by  virtue  of  that  blood  and  earth. 
By  these  means,  and  blowing  of  fame,  that  place  was  the  more 
visited  by  women  and  undiscreet  persons,  of  the  which  some 
watched  there  the  whole  night  in  prayer,  so  that  the  longer  this 
continued,  the  more  disclander  was  anoted  to  the  justices,  and  to 
such  as  put  him  to  death  :  notwithstanding,  in  process  of  time, 
when  his  acts  were  published,  as  the  slaying  of  a  man  with  his 
own  hand,  with  other  detestable  crimes,  somewhat  killed  the 
great  flame  of  the  hasty  pilgrimage  ;  but  not  clearly  till  tlic  arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  accursed  the  priest  that  brought  up  the  first 
fable,  and  also  caused  that  place  to  be  watched,  that  such  idolatry 
should  there  no  more  be  used. 


ROBER T  FABYAN  117 


WAT  TYLER'S    REBELLION 

In  this  mayor's  year  and  end  of  the  third  year  of  King  Richard, 
toward  the  summer  season,  in  divers  places  of  the  land,  the  com- 
mons arose  suddenly  and  ordained  to  them  rulers  and  captains, 
and  especially  in  Kent  and  Essex,  the  which  named  their  leaders 
Jack  Straw,  Will  Waw,  Wat  Tyler,  Jack  Shepherd,  Tom  Miller, 
and  Hob  Carter.  These  unruled  company  gathered  unto  them 
great  multitude  of  the  commons,  and  after  sped  them  toward  the 
city  of  London,  and  assembled  them  upon  Black  Heath  in  Kent, 
within  three  miles  of  London,  and  upon  Corpus  Christi  day, 
being  the  eleventh  day  of  June,  they  entered  the  tower  of  London, 
and  there  the  king  being  then  lodged,  took  from  thence  perforce 
Master  Sudbery,  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Sir  Robert 
Halys,  lord  or  prior  of  St.  John's,  and  a  white  friar,  confessor 
unto  the  king,  which  three  persons,  with  huge  noise  and  cry,  they 
led  unto  the  hill  of  the  said  tower,  and  smote  off  their  heads,  and 
when  they  had  so  done,  they  returned  into  Southwark  by  boats 
and  barges,  and  there  slew  and  robbed  all  strangers  that  they 
might  find  :  and  that  done  they  went  to  Westminster,  and  took 
with  them  all  manner  of  sanctuary  men,  and  so  came  unto  the 
Duke  of  Lancaster's  place  standing  without  Temple  Bar,  called 
Savoy,  and  spoiled  that  was  therein,  and  after  set  it  upon  fire 
and  brent  it  ;  and  from  thence  they  yode  unto  the  head  place  of 
Saint  John's  in  Smithfield,  and  despoiled  that  place  in  like  wise. 
Then  they  entered  the  city,  and  searched  the  Temple  and  other 
inns  of  court,  and  spoiled  their  places  and  brent  their  books 
of  law,  and  slew  as  many  men  of  law  and  questmongers  as  they 
might  find  :  and  that  done  they  went  to  Saint  Martin's  the  Grand, 
and  took  with  them  all  sanctuary  men,  and  the  prisons  of  New- 
gate, Ludgate,  and  of  both  counters,  and  destroyed  their  registers 
and  books,  and  in  like  manner  they  did  with  the  prisoners  of  the 
Marshalsea  and  King's  Bench  in  Southwark.  When  Jack  Straw 
had  thus  done  all  thing  at  his  will,  and  saw  that  no  resistance 
was  made  again,  he  was  smitten  with  so  huge  a  presumption  that 
he  thought  no  man  his  peer,  and  so  being  enflamed  with  that 
presumption  and  pride  rode  unto  the  Tower,  where  the  king, 
being  smally  accompanied  of  his  lords,  caused  him  to  ride  about 
some  part  of  the  city,  and  so  conveyed  him  into  Smithfield,  where 
in  the  king's  presence,  he  caused  a  proclamation  to  be  made,  and 


1 1 8  ENGLISH  PR  OSE 


did  full  small  reverence  unto  the  king.  Which  misorder  and 
presumption  when  William  Walworth,  then  Mayor  of  London, 
beheld,  of  very  pure  disdain  that  he  had  of  his  pride,  ran  to  him 
suddenly  with  his  sword,  and  wounded  him  to  death,  and  forth- 
with strake  off  his  head,  and  areared  it  upon  a  spear's  point,  and 
therewith  cried,  "  King  Richard,  King  Richard."  When  the 
rebels  beheld  their  captain's  head,  anon  they  fled  as  sheep : 
howbeit  many  were  taken,  and  many  were  slain,  and  the  remnant 
chased,  that  the  city  and  suburbs  of  the  same  was  clean  voided 
of  them  that  night,  which  was  Monday,  and  the  fifteenth  day  of 
June.  When  the  king  had  beholden  the  great  manhood  of  the 
mayor,  and  assistance  of  his  brethren  and  aldermen,  anon,  in 
reward  of  his  deed,  he  dubbed  the  said  William  Walworth, 
Nicholas  Brembre,  John  Philpot,  Nicholas  Twyfiford,  Robert 
Launder,  and  Robert  Gayton,  aldermen,  knights.  And  in  this 
season  also,  called  the  hurling  time,  the  commons  of  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk  came  unto  the  abbey  of  Bury,  and  there  slew  one  of  the 
king's  justices,  called  John  Candish,  and  the  prior  of  the  place 
with  other,  and  after  spoiled  and  bare  away  much  thing  out  of 
that  said  place  :  but  after  this,  as  well  the  one  as  the  other  of 
these  rebels,  were  taken  in  divers  and  sundry  places  and  put  in 
execution,  by  ten,  by  twelve,  by  fifteen,  and  twenty,  so  that  one 
of  them  accused  the  other  to  the  destruction  of  a  great  number 


of  them. 


MARRIAGE   OF    RICHARD    II.   AND    ISABEL   OF 
FRANCE 

In  the  beginning  of  this  mayor's  year,  and  nineteenth  year  of 
King  Richard,  and  eighteenth  day  of  November,  as  affirmeth  the 
French  chronicle,  King  Richard  being  then  at  Calais,  spoused  or 
took  to  wife,  within  the  church  of  Saint  Nicholas,  Isabel,  the 
daughter  of  Charles  the  Sixth,  then  King  of  France,  which  Lady 
Isabel,  as  witnesseth  the  said  French  story,  at  the  day  of  her 
marriage  was  within  eight  years  of  age,  and  as  it  is  registered  in 
one  of  the  books  of  Guildhall  of  London,  the  French  king  in 
proper  person  came  down  with  a  goodly  company  of  lords  and 
knights  unto  a  town  called  Arde,  which  standeth  upon  the  utter 
border  of  Picardy,  where,  within  his  own  dominion,  a  rich  and 


ROBERT  FABYAN  *       119 


sumptuous  pavilion  was  Pyght ;  and  in  like  manner  a  little  beyond 
Gynys,  within  the  English  pale  was  another  like  pavilion  pyght 
for  King  Richard,  so  that  atween  the  two  said  pavilions  was  a 
distance  of  seventy  pace,  and  in  the  midway  atween  both  was 
ordained  the  third  pavilion,  at  the  which  both  kings  coming  from 
either  of  their  tents  sundry  times  there  met,  and  had  communica- 
tion either  with  other ;  the  ways  or  distance  atween  set  with 
certain  persons  appointed  standing  in  arms,  two  and  two,  fhe  one 
side  being  set  with  Englishmen,  and  that  other  with  French  ;  and 
a  certain  distance  from  either  of  the  two  first  said  pavilions,  stood 
both  hosts  of  both  princes,  or  such  companies  as  before  either  of 
them  was  appointed  to  bring.  Here  if  I  should  bring  in  the 
divers  meetings  of  the  said  princes,  and  the  curious  services  that 
either  caused  other  to  be  fed  and  served  with,  within  either  of 
their  tents,  or  of  their  dalliance  and  pastimes  continuing  the 
season  of  their  meetings,  and  the  diversity  of  the  manifold  spices 
and  wines  which  there  was  ministered  at  that  said  season  :  with 
also  the  rich  apparel  of  the  said  pavilions,  and  cupboards 
garnished  with  plate  and  rich  jewels,  it  would  ask  a  long  tract  of 
time  :  but  who  that  is  desirous  to  know  or  hear  of  the  circum- 
stance of  all  the  premises,  let  him  read  the  work  of  Master  John 
Froissart,  made  in  French,  and  there  he  shall  see  ever>'thing 
touched  in  an  order.  And  here  I  shall  shortly  touch  the  gifts 
that  were  given  of  either  of  the  princes  and  of  their  lords  :  and 
first  King  Richard  gave  unto  the  French  king  an  hanap  or  basin 
of  gold,  with  an  ewer  to  the  same  ;  then  againward  the  French 
King  gave  unto  him  three  standing  cups  of  gold,  with  covers 
garnished  with  pearl  and  stone,  and  a  ship  of  gold  set  upon  a 
bier,  richly  garnished  with  pearl  and  stone.  Then  at  their  second 
meeting  King  Richard  gave  unto  him  an  oivche  set  with  so  fine 
stones,  that  it  was  valued  at  five  hundred  mark  sterling,  where 
again  the  French  king  gave  unto  him  two  flagons  of  gold,  a 
tablet  of  gold,  and  therein  an  image  of  Saint  Michael,  richly 
garnished  :  also  a  tablet  of  gold  with  a  crucifix  therein,  well  and 
richly  dight  :  also  a  tablet  of  gold  with  an  image  of  the  Trinity 
richly  set  with  pearl  and  stone  ;  also  a  tablet  of  gold  with  an 
image  of  Saint  George,  in  like  wise  set  with  pearl  and  stone  ; 
which  all  were  valued  at  the  sum  of  fifteen  hundred  mark.  Then 
King  Richard  seeing  the  bounty  of  the  French  King,  gave  to 
him  a  baldric  or  collar  of  gold,  set  with  great  diamonds,  rubies, 
and  bdlessys,  being  valued  at  five  thousand  mark,  the  which  for 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  preciosity  thereof,  that  it  was  of  such  an  excellency  and  fine- 
ness of  stuff,  the  French  King  therefore  ware  it  about  his  neck, 
as  often  as  the  king  and  he  met  together ;  then  the  French  king 
gave  unto  him  an  oivche  and  a  spice  plate  of  gold,  of  great 
weight,  and  valued  at  two  thousand  mark.  Many  were  the  rich 
gifts  that  were  received  of  lords  and  ladies  of  both  princes,  among 
the  which  specially  are  noted  three  gifts  which  King  Richard 
gave  unto  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  for  the  which  he  received  again 
of  the  duke  treble  the  value  ;  for  where  his  were  valued  at  a 
thousand  mark  the  duke's  were  valued  at  three  thousand  mark. 
Finally,  when  the  said  princes  had  thus  either  solaced  with  other, 
and  concluded  all  matters  concerning  the  above  said  marriage, 
the  French  king  delivered  unto  King  Richard  dame  Isabel,  his 
daughter,  saying  these  words  following :  "  Right  dear  beloved 
son,  I  deliver  here  to  you  the  creature  that  I  most  love  in  this 
world  next  to  my  wife  and  my  son,  beseeching  the  Father  in 
heaven  that  it  may  be  to  his  pleasure,  and  of  the  weal  of  you  and 
your  realm,  and  that  the  amity  atween  the  two  realms,  in  avoid- 
ing of  effusion  of  Christian  men's  blood,  may  be  kept  inviolate 
for  the  term  atween  us  concluded  ;"  which  term  was  thirty 
winter  as  expresseth  the  French  chronicle.  After  which  words, 
with  many  thanks  given  upon  either  parties,  preparation  was 
made  of  departing  :  and  after  King  Richard  had  conveyed  the 
French  King  toward  Arde,  he  took  his  leave  and  returned  unto 
his  wife,  the  which  was  immediately,  with  great  honour,  conveyed 
unto  Calais,  and  there  after  to  the  King  spoused,  as  before  to 
you  I  have  shewed.  After  the  which  solemnisation  with  all 
honour  ended,  the  king  with  his  young  wife  took  shipping,  and 
so  within  short  while  landed  at  Dover,  and  from  thence  sped  him 
toward  London  :  whereof  the  citizens  being  warned,  made  out  a 
certain  horsemen  well  appointed  in  one  livery  of  colour,  with  a 
cognisance  broidered  upon  their  sleeves,  whereby  every  fellow- 
ship was  known  from  other,  the  which,  with  the  mayor  and  his 
brethren  clothed  in  scarlet,  met  the  king  and  the  queen  upon  the 
Black  Heath,  and  after  due  salutation  and  reverent  welcomes 
unto  them  made,  by  the  mouth  of  the  recorder,  the  said  citizens 
conveyed  the  king  upon  his  way  till  he  came  to  Newington, 
where  the  king  commanded  the  mayor  with  his  company  to 
return  to  the  city,  for  he  with  his  lords  and  ladies  was  appointed 
that  night  to  lie  at  Kennington. 


LORD  BERNERS 

[John  Bourchier,  or  Bouchier,  afterwards  Lord  Berners,  was  descended 
from  a  family  of  great  distinction,  which  could  claim  kinship  with  the 
Plantagenets,  and  which  had  already  furnished  a  long  list  of  men  high  in 
Church  and  State.  The  Bourchiers  had  at  first  been  supporters  of  the 
Lancastrian  House  :  but  had  afterwards  joined  the  Yorkist  party,  on  whose 
behalf  our  authors  grandfather,  Lord  Berners  (whom  he  succeeded),  fought 
at  St.  Albans,  while  his  father,  Humphrey  Bourchier,  fell  at  Barnet  fighting 
on  the  same  side.  John  Bourchier  was  born  about  1467,  and  succeeded 
to  the  title  in  1474.  Even  as  a  child  he  seems  to  have  lived  at  the 
Court,  and  was  knighted  in  1477  ;  but,  according  to  the  growing  custom 
of  the  day  which  no  longer  countenanced  the  complete  separation  of  arms 
from  letters,  he  was  sent  to  Oxford,  where,  according  to  Anthony  Wood, 
he  belonged  to  Balliol  College.  After  his  stay  at  the  University  he  travelled 
abroad,  returning  to  England  when  the  Earl  of  Richmond  became  Henry  VU., 
with  the  Bourchier  family  amongst  his  chief  supporters.  It  was  a  member  of 
that  family.  Cardinal  Bourchier,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who  placed  the 
crown  on  Henry's  head.  In  th\e  following  years  Lord  Berners  distinguished 
himself  in  military  service,  and  he  continued  as  high  in  favour  with  Henry  VIII. 
as  with  his  father.  He  served  under  Lord  Surrey  in  Scotland,  and  was 
employed  on  embassies  of  high  importance.  About  1520  he  seems  to  have 
been  appointed  Governor  of  Calais,  and  there  he  spent  his  last  years,  employed 
at  Henry's  command,  upon  the  translation  of  Froissart's  Chronicles  from  the 
French.     He  died  in  1532.] 

By  birth,  by  education,  by  association  and  employment  ;  as  the 
head  of  a  great  family,  from  his  youth  a  courtier  ;  as  the  companion 
in  arms  as  well  as  in  letters  of  his  kinsman,  Surrey  ;  as  conversant 
not  only  with  the  learning  of  Oxford,  but  with  the  active  hfe  of  the 
counsellor  and  the  soldier ;  as  acquainted  not  only  with  the 
languages  but  with  the  rulers  of  all  the  leading  European  states — 
Lord  Berners  was  one  on  whose  head  all  that  was  choicest  in  the 
England  of  his  day  seemed  to  unite,  so  as  to  make  him  in  truth 
one  of  the  most  typical  figures  in  an  age  when  the  chivalry  of  the 
past  was  linked,  as  it  were,  with  the  intellectual  activity  of  the 
future.  His  work  has  precisely  the  qualities  which  such  a  training 
and  such  opportunities  were  likely  to  give  :  and  it  is  perhaps  not 

121 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


too  much  to  say  that  there  is  no  one  who,  without  producing  a  work  of 
original  genius  or  research,  has  laid  English  literature  under  such 
a  heavy  debt  of  obligation,  as  Lord  Berners  by  his  translation  of 
Froissart.  From  the  abundance  of  French  and  Spanish  romances 
he  translated  a  few  specimens  :  and  he  also  made  a  translation 
from  a  French  version  of  the  Spaniard  Guevara's  work  entitled 
the  Golden  Book  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  El  Relox  de  Principes. 
As  Guevara's  work  was  not  published  until  1529,  and  as  no 
French  version  is  known  to  have  appeared  in  Berners'  time,  some 
doubt  may  be  felt  as  to  the  genesis  of  the  book.  But  these  works 
have  long  been  forgotten  :  his  chief  achievement,  and  that  by 
which  his  name  must  live,  is  his  reproduction  of  the  French 
Chronicle  in  a  translation,  which,  by  the  rarest  of  literary  gifts, 
has  all  the  energy  and  verve  of  an  original  work. 

Berners'  work  is  an  advance  no  less  upon  the  laboured  pon- 
derousness  of  works  which  produced,  in  an  English  dress,  the  old 
chroniclers,  than  upon  the  more  ornate,  but  fantastic  and  shadowy 
translations  of  the  romances.  He  had  the  good  fortune  in 
following  a  royal  order  (which  is  enough  of  itself  to  prove  a  rare 
literary  sagacity  in  Henry  VI 1 1.),  to  find  an  author  between  whom  and 
himself — though  separated  by  a  century  of  time — there  was  a  close 
sympathy  of  thought  and  interest.  This  was  the  first  condition  of 
success  ;  but  that  success  was  made  still  more  sure  by  the  union 
of  a  romantic  fancy  with  experience  of  active  life,  and  of  the  pomp 
and  pageantry  that  surround  the  great.  Nor  was  Berners  simply 
the  laureate  of  chivalry.  Faithful  as  he  is  to  his  original,  we  can 
yet  trace  his  own  feeling  through  his  choice  of  words,  and  he  is 
able  to  give  us  an  impression  of  earnest  sympathy  with  every  phase 
of  the  amazingly  varied  scene  through  which  the  Chronicle  leads  us. 

We  have  seen  how  even  in  Fabyan's  Concordance  of  Histories, 
with  all  its  roughness  and  coldness,  the  interest  grows,  and  the  force 
of  the  narrative  increases  as  he  comes  nearer  to  the  events  of  his 
own  days,  and  more  especially  when  he  tells  of  that  Government  of 
London,  in  which  he  had  himself  borne  a  part.  But  in  Berners 
we  have  got  many  strides  further  away  from  the  monkish  chronicler, 
to  whom  it  never  even  remotely  occurred  that  any  words  that  fell 
from  his  pen  should  recall  scenes  of  real  life — of  a  life,  heard  in 
his  cloister  only  as  a  confused  and  distant  babble  of  noise.  It  is 
the  very  opposite  of  the  mood  of  the  monkish  chronicler  which 
gives  to  Berners'  translation  those  qualities  that  make  it  a  model 
of  style,  simple,  direct,  and  unaffected,  and  yet  with  a  force  and 


LORD  BE R NEKS  123 


intensity  of  feelinj,'  which  the  most  elaborate  affectations  of  more 
laboured  ingenuity  would  seek  in  vain  to  reproduce. 

The  translation  undoubtedly  marks  the  highest  point  to  which 
English  narrative  prose  had  as  yet  reached.  It  attains  its  effect 
by  no  straining  after  a  purity  of  Saxon  diction,  which  some  are 
pleased  to  consider  the  distinctive  mark  of  excellence.  Like  all 
the  early  masters  of  English  prose,  Berners  was  bold  in  his  appro- 
priation of  foreign  words.  Occasionally  he  reminds  us  even  of  the 
perfect  English  of  the  book  of  Common  Prayer  in  his  harmonious 
variations  between  words  of  Teutonic  and  of  Romance  origin.  But 
his  style  was  far  too  flexible. and  mobile  to  be  confined  to  the  narrow 
range,  within  which  are  to  be  found  the  meagre  currents  that  go 
to  feed  the  beginnings  of  our  language,  and  to  which  the  pedantry 
of  the  Teutonic  purist  would  confine  the  ideal  of  English  prose. 

Lord  Berners  is  a  master  of  English  style,  then,  partly  because 
he  found  in  his  author  one  with  whose  subjects  and  whose  methods 
he  was  in  complete  sympathy  :  partly  because  by  the  teaching  of 
the  university,  the  training  of  the  Court,  and  the  discipline  of 
experience,  he  had  learned  to  realise  what  he  described,  and  thus 
to  impart  to  it  a  force  which  no  laboured  art  could  improve  : 
and  partly  because  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Romance 
languages  opened  to  him  a  wide  range  of  words  which  he  made  no 
scruple  of  appropriating  at  his  need.  We  are  perhaps  apt  to  per- 
suade ourselves,  in  reading  these  early  authors,  that  the  harmonious 
charm  of  their  style  comes  in  great  measure  from  their  almost 
childish  simplicity.  The  persuasion  is  more  flatte^ng  to  ourselves 
than  true.  Artistic  skill  like  that  of  Berners  is  rarely  unconscious  : 
that  it  conceals  itself  does  not  rob  it  of  the  character  of  art.  And  the 
particular  instance  of  Berners  suggests  a  contrast  that  is  not  soothing 
to  our  self-respect.  Froissart  has  been  twice  translated  into 
English  ;  by  Berners,  and  again  in  the  early  days  of  this  century 
by  Mr.  Johnes,  a  Welsh  squire  and  member  of  Parliament,  of 
literary  tastes  and  most  creditable  industr}-.  The  work  of  Mr. 
Johnes  obtained  much  favour  from  our  grandfathers  ;  but  a  com- 
parison with  that  of  Berners  shews  us  at  least  to  what  a  bathos 
English  prose  can  fall.  Let  us  take  a  few  sentences  at  random, 
from  Berners  and  from  Johnes. 

First  this  from  Lord  Berners — 

"Wherefore  he  came  on  a  night  and  declared  all  this  to  the  queen,  and 
advised  her  of  the  peril  that  she  was  in.  Then  the  queen  was  greatly  abaslu-tl, 
and  required  him,  all  weeping,  of  his  good  counsel.      Then  he  said,  Madame, 


124  ENGLISH  PROSE 


I  counsel  you  that  ye  depart  and  go  in  to  the  Empire,  where  as  there  be  many 
great  lords  who  may  right  well  aid  you,  and  specially  the  Earl  William  of 
Hainault,  and  Sir  John  of  Hainault,  his  brother.  These  two  are  great  lords 
and  wise  men,  true,  dread,  and  redoubted  of  their  enemies." 

Then  the  parallel  passage  in  Mr.  Johnes  :  — 

"  He  therefore  came  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  inform  the  queen  of  the 
peril  she  was  in.  She  was  thunderstruck  at  the  information,  to  which  he  added, 
"I  recommend  you  to  st^t  out  for  the  Empire,  where  there  are  many  noble 
lords  who  may  greatly  assist  you,  particularly  William,  Earl  of  Hainault,  and 
his  brother,  who  are  both  great  lords,  and  wise  and  loyal  men,  and  much 
dreaded  by  their  enemies." 

Let  us  next  compare  a  few  sentences  (taken  from  one  of  the  ex- 
tracts which  follow)  with  their  counterparts  in  Johnes.  This  is 
from  the  scene  at  Bruce's  death-bed,  as  given  by  Lord  Berners. 

"Then  he  called  to  him  the  gentle  knight,  Sir  James  Douglas,  and  said 
before  all  the  lords.  Sir  James,  my  dear  friend,  ye  know  well  that  I  have  had 
much  ado  in  my  days  to  uphold  and  sustain  the  right  of  this  realm  :  and  when 
I  had  most  ado,  I  made  a  solemn  vow,  the  which  as  yet  I  have  not  accomplished, 
whereof  I  am  right  sorry  :  the  which  was,  if  I  might  achieve  and  make  an  end 
of  all  my  wars,  so  that  I  might  once  have  brought  this  realm  in  rest  and  peace, 
then  I  promised  in  my  mind  to  have  gone  and  warred  on  Christ's  enemies, 
adversaries  to  our  holy  Christian  faith.  .  .  .  Then  all  the  lords  that  heard 
these  words  wept  for  pity.  And  when  this  knight.  Sir  James  Douglas,  might 
speak  for  weeping,  he  said.  Ah,  gentle  and  noble  King,  an  hundred  times  I 
thank  your  grace  of  the  great  honour  that  ye  do  to  me,  sith  of  so  noble  and 
great  treasure  ye  give  me  in  charge  :  and,  sir,  I  shall  do  with  a  glad  heart  all 
that  ye  have  commanded  me,  to  the  best  of  my  true  power  :  howbeit,  I  am  not 
worthy  nor  sufficient  to  achieve  such  a  noble  enterprise.  Then  the  King  said. 
Ah,  gentle  knight,  I  thank  you,  so  ye  will  promise  to  do  it.  Sir,  said  the 
knight,  I  shall  do  it  undoubtedly,  by  the  faith  that  I  owe  to  God,  and  to  the 
order  of  knighthood. " 

Here  is  Mr.  Johnes's  version  of  the  same  lines  : — 

"  He  after  that  called  to  him  the  gallant  lord  James  Douglas,  and  said  to 
him  in  presence  of  the  others  :  "  My  dear  friend,  lord  James  Douglas,  you 
know  that  I  have  had  much  to  do,  and  have  suffered  many  troubles  during  the 
time  I  have  lived,  to  support  the  rights  of  my  crown  :  at  the  time  that  I  was 
most  occupied  I  made  a  vow,  the  non-accomplishment  of  which  gives  me  much 
uneasiness — I  vowed  that  if  I  could  finish  my  wars  in  such  a  manner  that  I 
might  have  quiet  to  govern  peaceably,  1  would  go  and  make  war  against  the 
enemies  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  adversaries  of  the  Christian  faith. 
.  .  .  All  those  present  began  bewailing  bitterly,  and  when  the  lord  James 
could  speak,  he  said,  "  Gallant  and  noble  King,  I  return  you  a  hundred  thou- 
sand thanks  for  the  high  honour  you  do  me,  and  for  the  valuable  and  dear 


LORD  BERNERS  125 


treasure  with  which  you  entrust  me,  and  I  will  willingly  do  all  that  you 
command  me  with  the  utmost  loyalty  in  my  power  :  never  doubt  it,  however 
I  may  feel  myself  unworthy  of  such  a  high  distinction.  The  King  replied, 
"Gallant  knight,  I  thank  you — you  promise  it  me  then  ?  "  "Certainly,  Sir, 
most  willingly,"  answered  the  knight.  He  then  gave  his  promise  upon  his 
knighthood. 

If  we  wish  to  measure  the  decadence  of  English  prose  in  the 
course  of  three  centuries,  no  description  can  help  half  so  much  as 
the  comparison  of  these  few  paragraphs,  sentence  by  sentence  and 
word  by  word.  The  same  lesson  might  be  drawn  from  any  page 
taken  at  random  of  the  old  and  the  new  translation.  Yet  in  181  2 
the  editor  of  Berners  actually  offers  an  apology  for  reproducing 
"  the  venerable  production,"  now  that  "  the  elegant  modern  trans- 
lation by  Mr.  Johnes  has  made  the  contents  generally  familiar  !  " 
Perhaps  we  have  reco\ered  somewhat  from  the  style  of  Johnes, — it 
is  so  much  gained  that  we  know  that  it  is  not  elegant,  but  execrably 
bad, — but  the  grace  of  Lord  Berners  is  something  that  we  can 
never  by  any  possibility  recover.  An  affected  archaicism  will 
not  bring  us  one  hair's-breadth  nearer  to  it. 

The  translation  was  printed  by  Pynson  in  1523  and  1525. 
The  best  modern  edition  is  that  published  in  London  in  1812, 
with  a  memoir  of  Lord  Berners,  and  an  index. 

H.   Craik. 


LORD  BERNERS'  PREFACE. 

What  condign  graces  and  thanks  men  ought  to  give  to  the  writers 
of  histories,  who  with  their  great  labours,  have  done  so  much 
profit  to  the  human  hfe  ;  they  shew,  open,  manifest,  and  declare 
to  the  reader,  by  example  of  old  antiquity,  what  we  should  inquire, 
desire,  and  follow  ;  and  also,  what  we  should  eschew,  avoid,  and 
utterly  fly  :  for  when  we  (being  unexpert  of  chances)  see,  behold, 
and  read  the  ancient  acts,  gests,  and  deeds,  how  and  with  what 
labours,  dangers,  and  perils  they  were  gested  and  done,  they  right 
greatly  admonish,  eiisigne^  and  teach  us  how  we  may  lead  forth 
our  lives  :  and  farther,  he  that  hath  the  perfect  knowledge  of 
others'  joy,  wealth,  and  high  prosperity,  and  also  trouble,  sorrow, 
and  great  adversity,  hath  the  expert  doctrine  of  all  perils.  And 
albeit  that  mortal  folk  are  marvellously  separated,  both  by  land 
and  water,  and  right  wondrously  situate  ;  yet  are  they  and  their 
acts  (done  peradventure  by  the  space  of  a  thousand  year)  compact 
together  by  the  histographier,  as  it  were,  the  deeds  of  one  self 
city,  and  in  one  man's  life  :  wherefore  I  say,  that  history  may 
well  be  called  a  divine  providence  ;  for  as  the  celestial  bodies 
above  complete  all  and  at  every  time  the  universal  world,  the 
creatures  therein  contained,  and  all  their  deeds,  semblably  so  doth 
history.  Is  it  not  a  right  noble  thing  for  us,  by  the  faults  and 
errors  of  others,  to  amend  and  erect  our  life  into  better  ?  We 
should  not  seek  and  acquire  that  other  did  ;  but  what  thing  was 
most  best,  most  laudable,  and  worthily  done,  we  should  put  before 
our  eyes  to  follow.  Be  not  the  sage  counsels  of  two  or  three  old 
fathers  in  a  city,  town,  or  country,  whom  long  age  hath  made 
wise,  discreet,  and  prudent,  far  more  praised,  lauded,  and  dearly 
loved  than  of  the  young  men?  How  inuch  more  then  ought 
histories  to  be  commended,  praised,  and  loved,  in  whom  is  in- 
cluded so  many  sage  counsels,  great  reasons,  and  high  wisdoms 
of  so  innumerable  persons,  of  sundry  nations,  and  of  every  age,  and 
126 


LORD  BERNERS  127 


that  in  so  long  space  as  four  or  five  hundred  year.  The  most 
profitable  thing  in  this  world  for  the  institution  of  the  human  life 
is  history.  Once  the  continual  reading  thereof  maketh  young 
men  equal  in  prudence  to  old  men  ;  and  to  old  fathers  stricken  in 
age  it  ministereth  experience  of  things.  More,  it  yieldeth  private 
persons  worthy  of  dignity,  rule,  and  governance  ;  it  compelleth 
the  emperors,  high  rulers,  and  governors  to  do  noble  deeds,  to 
the  end  they  may  obtain  immortal  glory  ;  it  exciteth,  moveth,  and 
stirreth  the  strong  hardy  warriors,  for  the  great  laud  that  they 
have  after  they  be  dead,  promptly  to  go  in  hand  with  great  and 
hard  perils,  in  defence  of  their  country  ;  and  it  prohibiteth  reprov- 
able  persons  to  do  mischievous  deeds,  for  fear  of  infamy  and 
shame  :  so  thus,  through  the  monuments  of  writing,  which  is  the 
testimony  unto  virtue,  many  men  have  been  moved,  some  to  build 
cities,  some  to  devise  and  establish  laws  right  profitable,  necessary, 
and  behoveful  for  the  human  life  ;  some  other  to  find  new  arts, 
crafts,  and  sciences,  very  requisite  to  the  use  of  mankind  ;  but 
above  all  things,  whereby  man's  wealth  riseth,  special  laud  and 
cause  ought  to  be  given  to  history  :  it  is  the  keeper  of  such  things 
as  have  been  virtuously  done,  and  the  witness  of  evil  deeds  ;  and 
by  the  benefit  of  history  all  noble,  high,  and  virtuous  acts  be  im- 
mortal. What  moved  the  strong  and  fierce  Hercules  to  enterprise 
in  his  hfe  so  many  great  incomparable  labours  and  perils  }  Cer- 
tainly nought  else  but  that  for  his  merit  immortality  might  be 
given  to  him  of  all  folk.  In  semblable  wise  did  his  imitator,  noble 
duke  Theseus,  and  many  other  innumerable  worthy  princes  and 
famous  men,  whose  virtues  be  redeemed  from  oblivion  and  shine 
by  history.  And  whereas  other  monuments  in  process  of  time, 
by  variable  chances,  are  confused  and  lost :  the  virtue  of  history 
diffused  and  spread  through  the  universal  world,  hath  to  her 
custos  and  keeper,  it  (that  is  to  say,  time)  which  consumeth  the 
other  writings.  And  albeit  that  those  men  are  right  worthy  of 
great  laud  and  praise,  who  by  their  writings  shew  and  lead  us  the 
way  to  virtue  :  yet  nevertheless,  the  poems,  laws,  and  other  acts 
that  they  found  devised  and  writ,  be  mixed  with  some  damage  : 
and  sometimes  for  the  truth  they  ensigne  a  man  to  lie  :  but  only 
history,  truly  with  words,  representing  the  acts,  gests,  and  deeds 
dinr,  completeth  all  profit:  it  moveth,  stirreth,  and  compelleth 
ti  iionesty  ;  detesteth,  irketh,  and  abhorreth  vices:  it  extolleth, 
enhaunceth,  and  lifteth  up,  such  as  be  noble  and  virtuous  ;  de- 
presseth, /i^/.y/^r^/Zi!,  and  thrusteth  down  such  as  be  wicked,  evil, 


128  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  reprovable.  What  knowledge  should  we  have  of  ancient 
things  past,  an  history  were  not  ?  Which  is  the  testimony  thereof, 
the  light  of  truth,  the  mistress  of  the  life  humane,  the  president 
of  remembrance,  and  the  messenger  of  antiquity.  Why  moved 
and  stirred  Phalerius,  the  King  Ptolemy,  oft  and  diligently  to  read 
books  ?  Forsooth  for  none  other  cause,  but  that  those  things  are 
found  written  in  books,  that  the  friends  dare  not  show  to  the 
prince.  Much  more  I  would  fain  write  of  the  incomparable  profit 
of  history,  but  I  fear  me  that  I  should  too  sore  torment  the  reader 
of  this  my  preface  ;  and  also  I  doubt  not  but  that  the  great  utility 
thereof  is  better  known  than  I  could  declare  ;  wherefore  I  shall 
briefly  come  to  a  point.  Thus,  when  I  advertised  and  remembered 
the  manifold  commodities  of  history,  how  beneficial  it  is  to  mortal 
folk,  and  eke  how  laudable  and  meritorious  a  deed  it  is  to  write 
histories,  fixed  my  mind  to  do  something  therein  ;  and  ever  when 
this  imagination  came  to  me,  I  volved,  turned,  and  read  many 
volumes  and  books,  containing  famous  histories  ;  and  among  all 
other,  I  read  diligently  the  four  volumes  or  books  of  Sir  John 
Froissart  of  the  country  of  Hainault,  written  in  the  French  tongue^ 
which  I  judged  commodious,  necessary,  and  profitable  to  be  had 
in  English,  sith  they  treat  of  the  famous  acts  done  in  our  parts  ; 
that  is  to  say,  in  England,  France,  Spain,  Portugal,  Scotland, 
Brittany,  Flanders,  and  other  places  adjoining ;  and  specially  they 
redound  to  the  honour  of  Englishmen.  What  pleasure  shall  it  be 
to  the  noble  gentlemen  of  England  to  see,  behold,  and  read  the 
high  enterprizes,  famous  acts,  and  glorious  deeds  done  and  achieved 
by  their  valiant  ancestors  ?  Forsooth  and  good,  this  hath  moved 
me  at  the  high  commandment  of  my  most  redoubted  sovereign 
lord  King  Henry  VIII.,  King  of  England  and  of  France,  and 
high  defender  of  the  christian  faith,  etc.,  under  his  gracious  sup- 
portation,  to  do  my  devoir  to  translate  out  of  French  into  our 
maternal  English  tongue  the  said  volumes  of  Sir  John  Froissait : 
which  Chronicle  beginneth  at  the  reign  of  the  most  noble  and 
vahant  King  Edward  III.,  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand 
three  hundred  and  twenty-six  :  and  continueth  to  the  beginning  of 
the  reign  of  King  Henry  IV.,  the  year  of  our  Lord  God,  one 
thousand  and  four  hundred  :  the  space  between  is  threescore  and 
fourteen  years  ;  requiring  all  the  readers  and  hearers  thereof  to 
take  this  my  rude  translation  in  gre.  And  in  that  I  have  not 
followed  mine  author  word  by  word,  yet  I  trust  I  have  ensued  the 
true  report  of  the  sentence  of  the  matter  ;  and  as  for  the  true 


LORD  BERNEkS  129 


naming  of  all  manner  of  personages,  countries,  cities,  towns, 
rivers,  or  fields,  whereas  I  could  not  name  them  properly  nor  aptly 
in  English,  I  have  written  them  according  as  I  found  them  in 
French  ;  and  though  I  have  not  given  every  lord,  knight,  or  squire 
his  true  addition,  yet  I  trust  I  have  not  swerved  from  the  true 
sentence  of  the  matter.  And  there  as  I  have  named  the  distance 
between  places  by  miles  and  leagues,  they  must  be  understood 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  countries  where  as  they  be  named, 
for  in  some  places  they  be  longer  than  in  some  other  ;  in  England 
a  league  or  mile  is  well  known  ;  in  France  a  league  is  two  miles, 
and  in  some  place  three  :  and  in  other  country  is  more  or  less  ; 
every  nation  hath  sundry  customs.  And  if  any  fault  be  in  this 
my  rude  translation,  I  remit  the  correction  thereof  to  them  that 
discreetly  shall  find  any  reasonable  default  ;  and  in  their  so  doing, 
I  shall  pray  God  to  send  them  the  bliss  of  Heaven.     Amen. 


THE  DEATH  OF  KING  ROBERT  THE  BRUCE 

It  fortuned  that  King  Robert  of  Scotland  was  right  sore  aged, 
and  feeble  ;  for  he  was  greatly  charged  with  the  great  sickness, 
so  that  there  was  no  way  with  him  but  death  ;  and  when  he  felt 
that  his  end  drew  near,  he  sent  for  such  barons  and  lords  of  his 
realm  as  he  trusted  best,  and  showed  them  how  there  was  no 
remedy  with  him,  but  he  must  needs  leave  this  transitory  life  ; 
commanding  them  on  the  faith  and  truth  that  they  owed  him, 
truly  to  keep  the  realm,  and  aid  the  young  prince  David,  his  son, 
and  that  when  he  were  of  age,  they  should  obey  him,  and  crown 
him  king,  and  to  marry  him  in  such  a  place  as  was  convenient  for 
his  estate.  Then  he  called  to  him  the  gentle  knight.  Sir  James 
Douglas,  and  said  before  all  the  lords.  Sir  James,  my  dear  friend, 
ye  know  well  that  I  have  had  much  ado  in  my  days,  to  uphold 
and  sustain  the  right  of  this  realm,  and  when  I  had  most  ado,  I 
made  a  solemn  vow,  the  which  as  yet  I  have  not  accomplished, 
whereof  I  am  right  sorry  ;  the  which  was,  if  I  might  achieve  and 
make  an  end  of  all  my  wars,  so  that  I  might  once  have  brought 
this  realm  in  rest  and  peace,  then  I  promised  in  my  mind  to  have 
gone  and  warred  on  Christ's  enemies,  adversaries  to  our  holy 
Christian  faith.  To  this  purpose  mine  heart  hath  ever  intended, 
but  our  Lord  would  not  consent  thereto  ;  for  I  have  had  so  much 
VOL.  I.  K 


130  ENGLISH  PROSE 


ado  in  my  days,  and  now  in  my  last  enterprise,  I  have  taken  such 
a  malady,  that  I  can  not  escape.  And  sith  it  is  so  that  my  body 
can  not  go,  nor  achieve  that  my  heart  desireth,  I  will  send  the 
heart  in  stead  of  the  body,  to  accomplish  mine  avow.  And  because 
I  know  not  in  all  my  realm,  no  knight  more  valiant  than  ye  be, 
nor  of  body  so  well  furnished  to  accomplish  mine  avow  in  stead 
of  myself,  therefore  I  require  you,  mine  own  dear  especial  friend 
that  ye  will  take  on  you  this  voyage,  for  the  love  of  me,  and  to 
acquit  my  soul  against  my  Lord  God ;  for  I  trust  so  much  in 
your  nobleness  and  truth,  that  an  ye  will  take  on  you,  "I  doubt 
not,  but  that  ye  shall  achieve  it,  and  then  shall  I  die  in  more  ease 
and  quiet,  so  that  it  be  done  in  such  manner  as  I  shall  declare 
unto  you.  I  will,  that  as  soon  as  I  am  trespassed  out  of  this 
world,  that  ye  take  my  heart  out  of  my  body,  and  embalm  it,  and 
take  of  my  treasure,  as  ye  shall  think  sufficient  for  that  enter- 
prise, both  for  yourself,  and  such  company  as  ye  will  take  with 
you,  and  present  my  heart  to  the  holy  sepulchre,  where  as  our 
Lord  lay,  seeing  my  body  can  not  come  there  ;  and  take  with 
you  such  company  and  purveyance  as  shall  be  appertaining  to 
your  estate.  And  wheresoever  ye  come,  let  it  be  known,  how  ye 
carry  with  you  the  heart  of  King  Robert  of  Scotland,  at  his 
instance  and  desire  to  be  presented  to  the  holy  sepulchre.  Then 
all  the  lords  that  heard  these  words,  wept  for  pity.  And  when 
this  knight.  Sir  James  Douglas,  might  speak  for  weeping,  he  said, 
Ah,  gentle  and  noble  king,  a  hundred  times  I  thank  your  grace 
of  the  great  honour  that  ye  do  to  me,  sith  of  so  noble  and  great 
treasure  ye  give  me  in  charge  ;  and  sir,  I  shall  do  with  a  glad 
heart  all  that  ye  have  commanded  me,  to  the  best  of  my  true 
power  ;  how  be  it,  I  am  not  worthy  nor  sufficient  to  achieve  such 
a  noble  enterprise.  Then  the  king  said.  Ah,  gentle  knight,  I 
thank  you,  so  that  ye  will  promise  to  do  it.  Sir,  said  the  knight, 
I  shall  do  it  undoubtedly,  by  the  faith  that  I  owe  to  God,  and  to 
the  order  of  knighthood.  Then  I  thank  you,  said  the  king,  for 
now  shall  I  die  in  more  ease  of  my  mind,  sith  that  I  know  that 
the  most  worthy  and  sufficient  knight  of  my  realm  shall  achieve 
for  me,  the  which  I  could  never  attain  unto.  And  thus  soon  after 
this,  noble  Robert  de  Bruce,  King  of  Scotland,  trespassed  out  of 
this  uncertain  world,  and  his  heart  was  taken  out  of  h,i5  ,body, 
and  embalmed,  and  honourably  he  was  interred  in  the  Abbey  of 
Dunfermline,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  God,  1327,  the  seventh  day 
of  the  month  of  November. 


LORD  BERNERS  131 


HOW  THE   TOWN    OF  CALAIS  WAS   GIVEN    UP  TO 
THE   KING   OF   ENGLAND. 

After  that  the  French  king  was  thus  departed  from  Sangate, 
they  within  Calais  saw  well  how  their  succour  failed  them,  for  the 
which  they  were  in  great  sorrow.  Then  they  desired  so  much 
their  captain,  Sir  John  of  Vyen,  that  he  went  to  the  walls  of  the 
town,  and  made  a  sign  to  speak  with  some  person  of  the  host. 
When  the  king  heard  thereof,  he  sent  thither  Sir  Gaultier  of 
Manny,  and  Sir  Basset  :  then  Sir  John  of  Vyen  said  to  them, 
sirs,  ye  be  right  valiant  knights  in  deeds  of  arms,  and  ye  know 
well  how  the  king,  my  master,  hath  sent  me  and  other  to  this 
town,  and  commanded  us  to  keep  it  to  his  behoof,  in  such  wise 
that  we  take  no  blame,  nor  to  him  no  damage  ;  and  we  have 
done  all  that  lieth  in  our  power.  Now  our  succours  have  failed 
us,  and  we  be  so  sore  sprained  that  we  have  not  to  live  withal, 
but  that  we  must  all  die,  or  else  enrage  for  famine,  without  the 
noble  and  gentle  king  of  yours  will  take  mercy  on  us  ;  the  which 
to  do  we  require  you  to  desire  him  to  have  pity  on  us,  and  to  let  us 
go  and  depart  as  we  be,  and  let  him  take  the  town  and  castle 
and  all  the  goods  that  be  therein,  the  which  is  great  abundance. 
Then  Sir  Gaultier  of  Manny  said,  Sir,  we  know  somewhat  of  the 
intention  of  the  king  our  master,  for  he  hath  showed  it  unto  us  ; 
surely  know  for  truth  it  is  not  his  mind  that  you  nor  they  within 
the  town  should  depart  so,  for  it  is  his  will  that  ye  all  should  put 
yourselves  into  his  pure  will  to  ransom  all  such  as  pleaseth  him, 
and  to  put  to  death  such  as  he  list  ;  for  they  of  Calais  have  done 
him  such  contraries  and  despites,  and  have  caused  him  to 
dispend  so  much  good,  and  lost  many  of  his  men,  that  he  is  sore 
grieved  against  them.  Then  the  captain  said,  Sir,  this  is  too 
hard  a  matter  to  us  ;  we  are  here  within,  a  small  sort  of  knights 
and  squires,  who  have  truly  served  the  king  our  master,  as  well 
as  ye  serve  yours  in  like  case.  And  we  have  endured  much  pain 
and  unease ;  but  we  shall  yet  endure  as  much  pain  as  ever 
knights  did  rather  than  to  consent  that  the  worst  lad  in  the  town 
should  have  any  more  evil  than  the  greatest  of  us  all  ;  therefore, 
sir,  we  pray  you  that  of  your  humility,  yet  that  ye  will  go  and 
speak  to  the  King  of  England,  and  desire  him  to  have  pity  of  us, 
for  we  trust  in  him  so  much  gentleness,  that  by  the  grace  of  God 
his  purpose  shall  change.      Sir  Gaultier  of  Manny  and  Sir  Basset 


132  ENGLISH  PROSE 


returned  to  the  king,  and  declared  to  him  all  that  had  been  said. 
The  king  said  he  would  none  otherwise,  but  that  they  should 
yield  them  up  simply  to  his  pleasure.  Then  Sir  Gaultier  said, 
Sir,  saving  your  displeasure  in  this,  ye  may  be  in  the  wrong,  for 
ye  shall  give  by  this  an  evil  ensample  ;  if  ye  send  any  of  us  your 
servants  into  any  fortress,  we  will  not  be  very  glad  to  go  if  ye  put 
any  of  them  in  the  town  to  death  after  they  be  yielded,  for  in 
likewise  they  will  deal  with  us  if  the  case  fell  like  ;  the  which 
words  divers  other  lords  that  were  there  present  sustained  and 
maintained.  Then  the  king  said,  Sirs,  I  will  not  be  alone  against 
you  all ;  therefore  Sir  Gaultier  of  Manny  you  shall  go  and  say  to 
the  captain,  that  all  the  grace  that  he  shall  find  now  in  me  is, 
that  they  let  six  of  the  chief  burgesses  of  the  town  come  out  bare- 
headed, bare-footed,  and  bare-legged,  and  in  their  shirts,  with 
halters  about  their  necks,  with  the  keys  of  the  town  and  castle  in 
their  hands,  and  let  them  six  yield  themselves  purely  to  my  will, 
and  the  residue  I  will  take  to  mercy.  Then  Sir  Gaultier  returned, 
and  found  Sir  John  of  Vyen  still  on  the  wall,  abiding  for  an 
answer  ;  then  Sir  Gaultier  showed  him  all  the  grace  he  could  get 
of  the  king.  Well,  quoth  Sir  John,  sir,  I  require  you  tarry  here 
a  certain  space  till  I  go  into  the  town  and  show  this  to  the  com- 
mons of  the  town,  who  sent  me  hither.  Then  Sir  John  went 
unto  the  market  place,  and  sowned  the  common  bell ;  then,  incon- 
tinent, men  and  women  assembled  there  ;  then  the  captain  made 
report  of  all  that  he  had  done,  and  said.  Sirs,  it  will  be  none 
otherwise  ;  therefore  now  take  advice  and  make  a  short  answer. 
Then  all  the  people  began  to  weep  and  to  make  such  sorrow,  that 
there  was  not  so  hard  a  heart  if  they  had  seen  them  but  that 
would  have  had  great  pity  of  them  :  the  captain  himself  wept 
piteously.  At  last  the  most  rich  burgess  of  all  the  town,  called 
Eustace  of  St.  Pierre,  rose  up  and  said  openly,  Sirs,  great  and 
small,  great  mischief  it  should  be  to  suffer  to  die  such  people  as 
be  in  this  town,  either  by  famine  or  otherwise,  when  there  is  a 
mean  to  save  them  ;  I  think  he  or  they  should  have  great  merit 
of  our  Lord  God  that  might  keep  them  from  such  mischief;  as 
for  my  part,  I  have  so  good  trust  in  our  Lord  God,  that  if  I  die 
in  the  quarrel  to  save  the  residue,  that  God  would  pardon  me  ; 
wherefore,  to  save  them,  I  will  be  the  first  to  put  my  life  in 
jeopardy.  When  he  had  thus  said,  every  man  worshipped  him, 
and  divers  kneeled  down  at  his  feet  with  sore  weeping  and  sore 
sighs.     Then  another  honest  burgess  rose  and  said,  I  will  keep 


LORD  BERNERS  133 


company  with  my  gossip  Eustace  :  he  was  called  John  Dayre. 
Then  rose  up  Jacques  of  Wyssant,  who  was  rich  in  goods  and 
heritage  :  he  said  also  that  he  would  hold  company  with  his  two 
cousins  ;  in  likewise  so  did  Peter  of  Wyssant,  his  brother  :  and 
then  rose  two  other  :  they  said  they  would  do  the  same.  Then 
they  went  and  apparelled  them  as  the  king  desired.  Then  the 
captain  went  with  them  to  the  gate  ;  there  was  great  lamentation 
made  of  men,  women,  and  children  at  their  departing  ;  then  the 
gate  was  opened,  and  he  issued  out  with  the  six  burgesses  and 
closed  the  gate  again,  so  that  they  weie  between  the  gate  and 
the  barriers.  Then  he  said  to  Sir  Gaultier  of  Manny,  Sir,  I 
deliver  here  to  you  as  captain  of  Calais,  by  the  whole  consent  of 
all  the  people  of  the  town,  these  six  burgesses  :  and  I  swear  to 
you  truly,  that  they  be  and  were  to-day  most  honourable,  rich, 
and  most  notable  burgesses  of  all  the  town  of  Calais  ;  wherefore, 
gentle  knight,  I  require  you,  pray  the  king  to  have  mercy  on 
them,  that  they  die  not.  Ouoth  Sir  Gaultier,  I  cannot  say  what 
the  king  will  do,  but  I  shall  do  for  them  the  best  I  can.  Then 
the  barriers  were  opened,  the  six  burgesses  went  towards  the 
king,  and  the  captain  entered  again  into  the  town.  When  Sir 
Gaultier  presented  these  burgesses  to  the  king,  they  kneeled  down 
and  held  up  their  hands,  and  said.  Gentle  king,  behold  here  we 
six,  who  were  burgesses  of  Calais,  and  great  merchants  ;  we  have 
brought  to  you  the  keys  of  the  town  and  of  the  castle,  and  we  sub- 
mit ourselves  clearly  into  your  will  and  pleasure,  to  save  the  residue 
of  the  people  of  Calais,  who  have  suffered  great  pain.  Sir,  we 
beseech  your  grace  to  have  mercy  and  pity  on  us  through  your  high 
nobles  ;  then  all  the  earls  and  barons,  and  others  that  there  were, 
wept  for  pity.  The  king  looked  felly  on  them,  for  greatly  he 
hated  the  people  of  Calais,  for  the  great  damages  and  displeasures 
they  had  done  him  on  the  sea  before.  Then  he  commanded 
their  heads  to  be  stricken  off;  then  every  man  required  the  king 
for  mercy,  but  he  would  hear  no  man  in  that  behalf:  then  Sir 
Gaultier  of  Manny  said.  Ah,  noble  king,  for  God's  sake  refrain 
your  courage  ;  ye  have  the  name  of  sovereign  nobless,  therefore 
now  do  not  a  thing  that  should  blemish  your  renown,  nor  to  give 
cause  to  some  to  speak  of  you  villany  ;  every  man  will  say  it  is  a 
great  cruelty  to  put  to  death  such  honest  persons,  who  by  their 
own  wills  put  themselves  into  your  grace  to  save  their  company. 
Then  the  king  ivryed  away  from  him,  and  commanded  to  send 
for  the  hangman,  and  said,  they  of  Calais  had  caused  many  of 


134  ENGLISH  PROSE 


my  men  to  be  slain,  wherefore  these  shall  die  in  likewise.  Then 
the  queen,  being  great  with  child,  kneeled  down,  and  sore  weep- 
ing, said.  Ah,  gentle  sir,  sith  I  passed  the  sea  in  great  peril,  I 
have  desired  nothing  of  you  ;  therefore  now  I  humbly  require 
you,  in  the  honour  of  the  son  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  for  the 
love  of  me,  that  ye  will  take  mercy  of  these  six  burgesses.  The 
king  beheld  the  queen,  and  stood  still  in  a  study  a  space,  and 
then  said,  Ah,  dame,  I  would  ye  had  been  as  now  in  some  other 
place,  ye  make  such  request  to  me  that  I  cannot  deny  you  ; 
wherefore  I  give  them  to  you,  to  do  your  pleasure  with  them. 
Then  the  queen  caused  them  to  be  brought  into  her  chamber, 
and  made  the  halters  to  be  taken  from  their  necks,  and  caused 
them  to  be  new  clothed,  and  gave  them  their  dinner  at  their 
leisure  ;  and  then  she  gave  each  of  them  six  nobles,  and  made 
them  to  be  brought  out  of  the  host  in  safeguard,  and  set  at  their 
liberty. 


THE  BIRD   IN   BORROWED   FEATHERS 

Lords,  said  this  friar,  there  was  once  a  fowl  appeared  in  this 
world  without  any  feathers  ;  and  when  all  other  fowls  knew  that 
he  was  born,  they  came  to  see  him,  because  he  was  so  fair  and 
pleasant  to  behold.  Then  they  imagined  among  them  what  they 
might  do  for  this  bird,  for  without  feathers  they  knew  well  he 
could  not  live  ;  and  they  said  they  would  he  should  live,  because 
he  was  so  fair  :  then  every  fowl  there  gave  him  of  their  feathers, 
and  the  fairer  bird  the  more  feathers  he  gave  him,  so  that  then 
he  was  a  fair  bird,  and  a  well  feathered,  and  began  to  fly ;  and 
the  birds  that  had  given  him  of  their  feathers,  when  they  saw 
hiin  fly,  they  took  great  pleasure  :  and  when  this  bird  saw  himself 
so  well  feathered,  and  that  all  other  fowls  honoured  him,  he 
began  to  wax  proud,  and  took  no  regard  of  them  that  had  made 
him,  but  picked  and  spurred  at  them,  and  was  contrary  to  them. 
Then  the  other  birds  drew  together,  and  demanded  each  other 
what  was  best  to  be  done  with  this  bird  that  they  had  made  up 
of  nought  and  now  so  disdaineth  them.  Then  the  Peacock  said, 
he  is  greatly  beautied  by  reason  of  my  feathers  ;  I  will  take  them 
again  from  him  :  in  the  name  of  good,  said  the  Falcon,  so  will  I 
have  mine  ;  and  so  said  all  the  other  birds  :  and  then  they  began 
to  take  again  from  hini  all  the  feathers  that  they  had  given  him. 


LORD  BERNERS  135 


And  when  this  bird  saw  that,  he  humbled  himself,  and  knowledged 
of  the  wealth  and  honour  that  he  had,  not  of  himself  but  of  them  ; 
for  he  knew  that  he  came  into  the  world  naked  and  bare,  and 
the  feathers  that  he  had  they  might  well  take  from  him  again 
when  they  list  :  then  he  cried  them  mercy,  and  said,  that  he 
would  amend  himself,  and  no  more  be  proud  ;  and  so  then  again 
these  gentle  birds  had  pity  on  him,  and  feathered  him  again,  and 
said  to  him,  we  would  gladly  see  thee  fly  among  us,  so  thou  wilt 
be  humble  as  thou  oughtest  to  be  ;  but  know  surely,  if  thou  be 
any  more  proud  and  disdainous,  we  will  take  from  thee  all  thy 
feathers,  and  set  thee  as  we  found  thee  first. 

Thus  said  the  friar  John  to  the  Cardinals  that  were  in  his 
presence  :  Sirs,  thus  shall  it  fall  on  you  of  the  church,  for  the 
Emperor  of  Rome  and  of  Almayne,  and  the  other  kings  christened, 
and  high  princes  of  the  world,  have  given  you  the  goods  and 
possessions  and  riches  to  the  entent  to  serve  God,  and  ye  spend 
it  in  pride  and  superfluity. 


THE  FRENCH   KING   SEIZED   BY  MADNESS 

The  king  passed  forth,  and  about  twelve  of  the  clock  the  king 
passed  out  of  the  forest,  and  came  into  a  great  plain  all  sandy  : 
the  sun  also  was  in  his  height  and  shone  bright,  whose  rays  were 
marvellously  hot,  whereby  the  horses  were  sore  chafed,  and  all 
such  persons  as  were  armed  were  sore  oppressed  with  heat.  The 
knights  rode  together  by  companies,  some  here  and  some  there, 
and  the  king  rode  somewhat  apart  because  of  the  dust :  and  the 
Duke  of  Berry,  and  the  Duke  of  Burgoyne,  rode  on  his  left  hand 
talking  together,  an  acre  breadth  of  land  off  from  the  king  ;  other 
lords,  as  the  Earl  of  March,  Sir  Jacques  of  Bourbon,  Sir  Charles 
d'Albret,  Sir  Philip  d'Artois,  Sir  Henry  and  Sir  Philip  of  Bar, 
Sir  Peter  of  Navarre,  and  other  knights,  rode  by  companies  ;  the 
Duke  of  Bourbon,  the  Lord  Coucy,  Sir  Charles  d'Angers,  the 
Baron  d'lvry,  and  divers  other,  rode  on  before  the  king,  and  not 
in  his  company  ;  and  they  devised  and  talked  together,  and  took 
no  heed  of  that  fell  suddenly  on  the  chief  personage  of  the  com- 
pany, which  was  on  the  king's  own  person  :  therefore  the  works 
of  God  are  mar\'ellous,  and  his  scourges  are  cruel  and  are  to  be 
doubted   of  all   creatures.       There   hath   been  seen   in   the   Old 


/36  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Testament,  and  also  in  the  New,  many  figures  and  examples 
thereof ;  we  read  how  Nebuchadnezzar,  King  of  Assyrians,  who 
reigned  a  season  in  such  triumphant  glory,  that  there  was  none 
like  him,  and  suddenly  in  his  greatest  force  and  glory,  the 
sovereign  King,  our  Lord  God,  King  of  heaven  and  of  earth, 
former  and  ordainer  of  all  things,  apparelled  this  said  king  in 
such  wise  that  he  lost  his  wit  and  reign,  and  was  seven  year  in 
that  estate,  and  lived  by  acorns  and  mast  thaffell  from  the  oaks, 
and  other  wild  apples  and  fruits,  and  had  taste  but  as  a  boar  or 
a  swine  ;  and  after  he  had  endured  this  penance  God  restored 
him  again  to  his  memory  and  wit  ;  and  then  he  said  to  Daniel 
the  prophet,  that  there  was  none  other  God  but  the  God  of  Israel  : 
now  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  three  persons  in 
one  God,  hath  been,  is,  and  ever  shall  be  as  puissant  to  shew  His 
works  as  ever  He  was,  wherefore  no  man  should  marvel  of  any 
thing  that  He  doth.  Now  to  the  purpose  why  I  speak  all  these 
words.  A  great  influence  from  heaven  fell  the  said  day  upon  the 
French  king,  and  as  divers  said,  it  was  his  own  fault  :  for  accord- 
ing to  the  disposition  of  his  body,  and  the  state  that  he  was  in, 
and  the  warning  that  his  physicians  did  give  him,  he  should  not 
have  ridden  in  such  a  hot  day,  at  that  hour,  but  rather  in  the 
morning  and  in  the  evening  in  the  fresh  air  ;  wherefore  it  was  a 
shame  to  them  that  were  near  about  him,  to  suffer  or  to  counsel 
him  to  do  as  he  did.  Thus  as  the  French  king  rode  upon  a  fair 
plain  in  the  heat  of  the  sun,  which  was  as  then  of  a  marvellous 
height,  and  the  king  had  on  a  jack  covered  with  black  velvet, 
which  sore  chafed  him,  and  on  his  head  a  single  bonnet  of  scarlet, 
and  a  chaplet  of  great  pearls,  which  the  queen  had  given  him  at 
his  departure,  and  he  had  a  page  that  rode  behind  him,  bearing 
on  his  head  a  chapeau  of  Montaban,  bright  and  clear  shining 
against  the  sun  :  and  behind  that  page  rode  another  bearing  the 
king's  spear,  painted  red,  and  fringed  with  silk,  with  a  sharp 
head  of  steel  ;  the  Lord  de  la  River  had  brought  a  dozen  of  them 
with  him  from  Toulouse,  and  that  was  one  of  them  :  he  had 
given  the  whole  dozen  to  the  king,  and  the  king  had  given  three 
of  them  to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  three  to  the 
Duke  of  Bourbon  ;  and  as  they  rode  thus  forth,  the  page  that 
bare  the  spear,  whether  it  were  by  negligence,  or  that  he  fell 
asleep,  he  let  the  spear  fall  on  the  other  page's  head  that  rode 
before  him,  and  the  head  of  the  spear  made  a  great  clash  on  the 
bright  chapeau  of  steel  :   the  king  (who  rode  but  afore  them),  with 


LORD  BERNERS  137 


the  noise  suddenly  started,  and  his  heart  trembled,  and  into  his 
imagination  ran  the  impression  of  the  words  of  the  man  that 
stopped  his  horse  in  the  forest  of  Mans,  and  it  ran  into  his 
thought,  that  his  enemies  ran  after  him  to  slay  and  destroy  him  : 
and  with  that  abusion  he  fell  out  of  his  wit  by  feebleness  of  his 
head,  and  dashed  his  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  drew  out  the  sword, 
and  turned  to  his  pages,  having  no  knowledge  of  any  man,  ween- 
ing himself  to  be  in  a  battle  enclosed  with  his  enemies,  and 
lift  up  his  sword  to  strike,  he  cared  not  where,  and  cried  and 
said :  On,  on  upon  these  traitors !  When  the  pages  saw  the 
king  so  inflamed  with  ire,  they  took  good  heed  to  themself,  as  it 
was  time  ;  they  thought  the  king  had  been  displeased  because 
the  spear  fell  down  :  then  they  stepped  away  from  the  king. 
The  DuTce  of  Orleans  was  not  as  then  far  off  from  the  king. 
The  king  came  to  him  with  his  naked  sword  in  his  hand  ;  the 
king  was  as  then  in  such  a  frenzy,  and  his  heart  so  feeble,  that 
he  neither  knew  brother  nor  uncle.  When  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
saw  the  king  coming  on  him  with  his  sword  naked  in  his  hand, 
he  was  abashed,  and  would  not  abide  him  ;  he  wist  not  what  he 
meant,  he  dashed  his  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  away,  and  the 
king  after  him.  The  Duke  of  Burgoyne,  who  rode  a  little  way 
off  from  the  king,  when  he  heard  the  rushing  of  the  horses,  and 
heard  the  pages  cry,  he  regarded  that  way,  and  saw  how  the 
king  with  his  naked  sword  chased  his  brother,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  he  was  sore  abashed  and  said :  Out,  harrow,  what 
mischief  is  this  ?  the  king  is  not  in  his  right  mind,  God  help  him  ; 
fly  away,  nephew,  fly  away,  for  the  king  would  slay  you.  The 
Duke  of  Orleans  was  not  well  assured  of  hiiliself,  and  fled  away 
as  fast  as  his  horse  might  bear  him,  and  knights  and  squires 
followed  after  :  every  man  began  to  draw  thither  :  such  as  were 
far  off,  thought  they  had  chased  an  hare  or  a  wolf,  till  at  last 
they  heard  that  the  king  was  not  well  in  his  mind.  The  Duke 
of  Orleans  saved  himself.  Then  men  of  arms  came  all  about  the 
king,  and  suffered  him  to  weary  himself,  and  the  more  that  he 
travailed  the  feebler  he  was  :  and  when  he  struck  at  any  man 
they  would  fall  down  before  the  stroke  :  at  this  matter  there  was 
no  hurt,  but  many  overthrown,  for  there  was  none  that  made  any 
defence.  Finally,  when  the  king  was  well  wearied,  and  his  horse 
sore  chafed  with  sweat  and  great  heat,  a  knight  of  Normandy, 
one  of  the  king's  chamberlains,  whom  the  king  loved  very  well, 
called  William  Martell,  he  came  behind  the  king  suddenly  and 


138  ENGLISH  PROSE 


took  him  in  his  arms,  and  held  him  still :  then  all  other  approached, 
and  took  the  sword  out  of  his  hands,  and  took  him  down  from 
his  horse,  and  did  off  his  jack  to  refresh  him  :  then  came  his 
brother,  and  his  three  uncles,  but  he  had  clean  lost  the  knowledge 
of  them,  and  rolled  his  eyes  in  his  head  marvellously,  and  spake 
to  no  man.  The  lords  of  his  blood  were  sore  abashed,  and  wist 
not  what  to  say  or  do.  Then  the  dukes  of  Berry  and  of  Burgoyne 
said.  It  behoveth  us  to  return  to  .Mans,  this  voyage  is  done  for 
this  time  ;  they  said  not  as  much  as  they  thought,  but  they 
showed  it  right  well,  after  when  they  came  to  Paris,  to  such  as 
they  loved  not,  as  ye  shall  hear  after. 


FROISSART'S  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND 

True  it  was,  that  I,  Sir  John  Froissart  (as  at  that  time  treasurer 
and  canon  of  Chymay,  in  the  earldom  of  Hainault,  in  the  diocese 
of  Liege),  had  great  affection  to  go  and  see  the  realm  of  England, 
when  I  had  been  in  Abbeyville,  and  saw  that  truce  was  taken 
between  the  realms  of  England  and  France,  and  other  countries  to 
them  conjoined,  and  their  adherents,  to  endure  four  years  by  sea 
and  land.  Many  reasons  moved  me  to  make  that  voyage  :  one 
was,  because  in  my  youth  I  had  been  brought  up  in  the  court  of 
the  noble  King  Edward  the  Third,  and  of  Queen  Philippa  his  wife, 
and  among  their  children,  and  other  barons  of  England,  that  as 
then  were  alive,  in  whom  I  found  all  nobleness,  honour,  largesse, 
and  courtesy;  therefore  I  desired  to  see  the  country,  thinking 
thereby  I  should  live  much  the  longer,  for  I  had  not  been  there 
twenty-seven  year  before,  and  I  thought,  though  I  saw  not  those 
lords  that  I  left  alive  there,  yet  at  the  least  I  should  see  their 
heirs,  the  which  should  do  me  much  good  to  see,  and  also  to 
justify  the  histories  and  matters  that  I  had  written  of  them  :  and 
or  I  took  my  journey,  I  spake  with  duke  Albert  of  Bavaria,  and 
with  the  Earl  of  Hainault,  Holland,  Zeeland,  and  lord  of  Friez, 
and  with  my  lord  William  earl  of  Ostrevant,  and  with  my  right 
honourable  lady  Jahane  duchess  of  Brabant  and  of  Luxembourg, 
and  with  the  lord  Engerant,  lord  Coucy,  and  with  the  gentle 
knight  the  lord  of  Gomegynes,  who  in  his  youth  and  mine  had  been 
together  in  England  in  the  king's  court  :  in  likewise  so  had  I  seen 
there  the  lord  of  Coucy,  and  divers  other  nobles  of  France,  hold 


LORD  BERNERS  139 


great  households  in  London,  when  they  lay  there  in  hostage  for 
the  redemption  of  King  John,  as  then  French  King,  as  it  hath 
been  shewed  here  before  in  this  history. 

These  said  lords,  and  the  duchess  of  Brabant,  counselled  me  to 
take  this  journey,  and  gave  me  letters  of  recommendation  to  the 
King  of  England  and  to  his  uncles,  saving  the  lord  Coucy  :  he 
would  not  write  to  the  king  because  he  was  a  Frenchman  :  there- 
fore he  durst  not,  but  to  his  daughter,  who  as  then  was  called 
duchess  of  Ireland  :  and  I  had  engrossed  in  a  fair  book  well 
enlumined,  all  the  matters  of  amours  and  moralities,  that  in  four 
and  twenty  years  before  I  had  made  and  compiled,  which  greatly 
quickened  my  desire  to  go  into  England  to  see  King  Richard,  who 
was  son  to  the  noble  prince  of  Wales  and  of  Aquitaine,  for  I  had 
not  seen  this  King  Richard  since  he  was  christened  in  the  cathedral 
church  of  Bourdeaux,  at  which  time  I  was  there,  and  thought  to 
have  gone  with  the  prince  the  journey  into  Galicia  in  Spain  ;  and 
when  we  were  in  the  city  of  Aste,  the  prince  sent  me  back  into 
England  to  the  queen  his  mother. 

For  these  causes  and  other  I  had  great  desire  to  go  into  Eng- 
land to  see  the  king  and  his  uncles.  Also  I  had  this  said  fair 
book  well  covered  with  velvet,  garnished  with  clasps  of  silver  and 
gilt,  thereof  to  make  a  present  to  the  king  at  my  first  coming  to 
his  presence  ;  I  had  such  desire  to  go  this  voyage,  that  the  pain 
and  travail  grieved  me  nothing.  Thus  provided  of  horses  and  other 
necessaries,  I  passed  the  sea  at  Calais,  and  came  to  Dover,  the 
twelfth  day  of  the  month  of  July.  When  I  came  there  I  found  no 
man  of  my  knowledge,  it  was  so  long  sith  I  had  been  in  England, 
and  the  houses  were  all  newly  changed,  and  young  children  were 
become  men,  and  the  women  knew  me  not  nor  I  them  :  so  I  abode 
half  a  day  and  all  a  night  at  Dover  :  it  was  on  a  Tuesday,  and  the 
next  day  by  nine  of  the  clock  I  came  to  Canterbury,  to  saint 
Thomas's  shrine,  and  to  the  tomb  of  the  noble  prince  of  Wales  who 
is  there  interred  right  richly  :  there  I  heard  mass,  and  made  mine 
offering  to  the  holy  saint,  and  then  dined  at  my  lodging  :  and  there 
I  was  informed  how  King  Richard  should  be  there  the  next  day 
on  pilgrimage,  which  was  after  his  return  out  of  Ireland,  where  he 
had  been  the  space  of  nine  months  or  there  about  :  the  King  had 
a  devotion  to  visit  saint  Thomas's  shrine,  and  also  because  the 
prince  his  father  was  there  buried.  Then  I  thought  to  abide  the 
King  there  and  so  I  did  ;  and  the  next  day  the  King  came  thither 
with  a  noble  company  of  lords,  ladies,  and  damoselles  :  and  when 


I40  ENGLISH  PROSE 


I  was  among  them  they  seemed  to  me  all  new  folks,  I  knew  no 
person  :  the  time  was  sore  changed  in  twenty-eight  year,  and  with 
the  king  as  then  was  none  of  his  uncles  ;  the  duke  of  Lancaster 
was  in  Aquitaine,  and  the  dukes  of  York  and  Gloucester  were  in 
other  businesses,  so  that  I  was  at  the  first  all  abashed,  for  if  I 
had  seen  any  ancient  knight  that  had  been  with  King  Edward  or 
with  the  prince,  I  had  been  well  recomforted  and  would  have  gone 
to  him,  but  I  could  see  none  such.  Then  I  demanded  for  a 
knight  called  sir  Richard  Seury,  whether  he  were  alive  or  not  ? 
and  it  was  shewed  me  yes,  but  he  was  at  London.  Then  I  thought 
to  go  to  the  lord  Thomas  Percy,  great  seneschal  of  England,  who 
was  there  with  the  king  :  so  I  acquainted  me  with  him,  and  I 
found  him  right  honourable  and  gracious,  and  he  offered  to  present 
me  and  my  letters  to  the  king,  whereof  I  was  right  joyful,  for  it 
behoved  me  to  have  some  means  to  bring  me  to  the  presence  of 
such  a  prince  as  the  King  of  England  was.  He  went  to  the  king's 
chamber,  at  which  time  the  king  was  gone  to  sleep,  and  so  he 
shewed  me,  and  bade  me  return  to  my  lodging  and  come  again, 
and  so  I  did  ;  and  when  I  came  to  the  bishop's  palace,  I  found 
the  Lord  Thomas  Percy  ready  to  ride  to  Ospring,  and  he  counselled 
me  to  make  as  then  no  knowledge  of  my  being  there,  but  to  follow 
the  court  ;  and  said  he  would  cause  me  ever  to  be  well  lodged,  till 
the  king  should  be  at  the  fair  castle  of  Ledes  in  Kent.  I  ordered 
me  after  his  counsel  and  rode  before  to  Ospring  ;  and  by  adven- 
ture I  was  lodged  in  a  house  where  was  lodged  a  gentle  knight  of 
England,  called  sir  William  Lisle  ;  he  was  tarried  there  behind 
the  king,  because  he  had  pain  in  his  head  all  the  night  before  ; 
he  was  one  of  the  king's  privy  chamber  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  I 
was  a  stranger,  and  as  he  thought,  of  the  marchesse  of  France, 
because  of  my  language,  we  fell  in  acquaintance  together  ;  for 
gentlemen  of  England  are  courteous,  treatable,  and  glad  of 
acquaintance  ;  then  he  demanded  what  I  was,  and  what  business 
I  had  to  do  in  those  parts  ;  I  shewed  him  a  great  part  of  my 
coming  thither,  and  all  that  the  lord  Thomas  Percy  had  said  to 
me,  and  ordered  me  to  do.  He  then  answered  and  said,  how  I 
could  not  have  a  better  mean,  and  that  on  the  Friday  the  king 
should  be  at  the  castle  of  Ledes  ;  and  he  shewed  me  that  when  I 
came  there,  I  should  find  there  the  duke  of  York,  the  king's  uncle, 
whereof  I  was  right  glad,  because  I  had  letters  directed  to  him, 
and  also  that  in  his  youth  he  had  seen  me  in  the  court  of  the  noble 
King  Edward  his  father,  and  with  the  queen  his  mother. 


JOHN    FISHER 


[John  Fisher,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  was  born  some  years  before  1470,  and 
was  executed  in  1535.  He  was  a  native  of  Yorkshire,  and  was  educated  at 
Cambridge,  where  he  obtained  the  patronage  of  Margaret,  Countess  of 
Richmond,  foundress  of  Christ's  College.  Fisher  was  her  chief  agent  in  the 
foundation  of  this  college,  and  from  her  bequest  he  afterwards  founded  St. 
John's  College.  He  stood  aloof  from  the  dominant  faction  attached  to 
Wols^y  ;  but  when  Henry's  breach  with  the  Papacy  became  pronounced, 
Fisher  stood  forward  as  one  of  the  chief  of  the  anti  -  reform  party,  stead- 
fastly opposed  Henry's  divorce  from  Catherine,  and  subsequently  refused  to 
take  the  oath  in  favour  of  the  King's  supremacy  over  the  Church.  For  this 
he  was  imprisoned,  and  while  under  the  royal  ban  was  created  Cardinal  by 
Pope  Paul  HI.  The  high  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  is  proved  by  the 
widespread  feeling  of  outraged  sentiment  which  Henry  aroused  throughout 
Christendom  by  the  execution  of  Fisher  in  1535.] 

A  FULL  consideration  of  Fisher's  life  would  force  us  to  enter 
upon  all  the  most  controverted  questions  of  the  stonny  time  in 
which  he  lived.  Our  business  here  is  concerned  solely  with  his 
position  as  a  writer  of  English  prose,  and  in  this  connection  he  is 
of  interest,  not  only  for  his  personal  character  and  attitude,  but 
also  as  marking  a  decided  advance  upon  all  writers  on  religious 
topics  who  preceded  him.  Adhering  to  the  old  creed,  he  yet  treats 
it  with  an  originality  and  a  raciness  which  are  all  his  own.  A' 
scholar  and  student,  he  is  yet  careful  to  be  clear  and  lucid  in  his 
sermons  to  a  mixed  audience.  A  courtier,  attracted  by  the 
dignity  of  constituted  authority,  and  keenly  alive  to  the  grace  of 
aristocratic  refinement,  he  is  yet  by  his  very  nature  honest,  in- 
stinctively independent,  and  unswerving  in  his  love  for  the  purity 
of  a  religious  life.  He  has  the  eloquence  and  fervour  of  an 
enthusiastic  supporter  of  the  Church,  with  a  copious  and  flowing 
diction  ;  but  yet  is  careful  and  fastidious  in  his  selection  of 
epithets,  and  shows  the  balance,  rhythm,  and  harmony  that  were 
to  be  the  most  characteristic  features  of  English  prose  when  it 
reached  that  highest  development,  towards  which  he  himself 
greatly  assisted.  His  constant  effort  to  draw  some  symbolical 
meaning  from  the  phrases  of  the  Scriptures  leads  him  into  refine- 

141 


142  ENGLISH  PROSE 


ments  which  are  often  curiously  quaint  and  far-fetched,  but  which 
forced  him  to  use,  by  the  very  necessity  of  the  subject,  an  exact 
and  graphic  diction,  the  essential  qualities  of  which  are  apparent 
in  spite  of  the  primitive  deficiencies  of  ordered  or  regular  com- 
position. "  When  our  Lord,"  he  says  in  a  typical  passage,  "  of 
His  goodness  shall  change  and  turn  the  soft  and  slippery  dust 
(signifying  wretched  sinners)  into- tough  earth  by  weeping  and 
true  penitence  for  their  sins,  and  after  that  make  them  hard  as 
stones  by  burning  charity,  apt  and  able  for  to  suffer  great  labours  "  ; 
and  a  similar  tendency  to  pourtray  religious  thoughts  by  some 
graphic  imagery  from  the  material  world  is  visible  in  every  page. 
He  has  an  artistic  and  poetical  faculty  for  catching  the  picturesque 
aspects  of  the  outer  world,  and  employing  them  as  literary  instru- 
ments, and  no  faculty  was  more  serviceable  in  developing  forcible 
and  vivid  prose.  The  following  is  only  one  of  many  such  de- 
scriptions to  be  found  in  Fisher's  writings  : — "  What  marvellous 
virtue,  what  wonderful  operation,  is  in  the  beams  of  the  sun 
which,  as  we  see  this  time  of  the  year  spread  upon  the  ground, 
doth  quicken  and  make  lively  many  creatures,  the  which  appeared 
before  as  dead  !  Who  that  viewed  and  beheld  in  the  winter 
season  the  trees  when  they  be  withered  and  their  leaves  shaken 
from  them,  and  all  the  moisture  shrunk  into  the  root,  and  no  lust 
of  greenness  nor  of  life  appeareth  outwardly — if  he  had  had  none 
experience  of  this  matter  before,  he  would  think  it  an  unlike  thing 
that  the  same  trees  should  revive  again  and  be  so  lustily  clad 
with  leaves  and  flowers  as  we  now  see  them."  The  art  of  the 
orator  is  seen  in  the  direct  reference  of  his  hearers  to  the  aspect 
of  nature  then  before  them  ;  and  if  we  overlook,  as  it  is  easy  to 
do,  the  small  tincture  of  archaicism,  the  structure  of  the  sentence  is 
so  perfect,  and  the  selection  of  epithets  so  artistic,  that  the  most 
finished  master  of  our  language,  as  developed  by  many  generations 
of  practice,  need  not  disdain  the  turn  or  rhythm  of  the  sentence. 
Fisher  shared  with  the  composers  of  the  English  liturgy  a  peculi- 
arity which  greatly  contributed  to  the  richness  and  variety  of  their 
diction—  -that  coupling  of  the  Saxon  word  with  its  classical  synonym, 
which  has  become  familiar  to  our  ears  through  the  Prayer  Book. 
Fisher's  prose  style  may,  indeed,  be  considered  as  a  corner-stone 
in  the  foundation  of  the  best  type  of  English  pulpit  eloquence — 
simple  almost  to  an  extreme,  but  yet  instinct  with  earnestness  and 
feeling,  and  at  the  same  time  with  the  balance  that  comes  from 
careful  scholarship  and  fastidious  taste.  tt    r-uAiK 


DEPENDENCE    UPON    DIVINE    MERCY 

That  man  were  put  in  great  peril  and  jeopardy  that  should 
hang  over  a  very  deep  pit  holden  up  by  a  weak  and  slender  cord 
or  line,  in  whose  bottom  should  be  most  ivoode  and  cruel  beasts 
of  every  kind,  abiding  with  great  desire  his  falling  down,  for  that 
intent  when  he  shall  fall  down  anon  to  devour  him,  which  line  or 
cord  that  he  hangeth  by  should  be  holden  up  and  stayed  only  by 
the  hands  of  that  man,  to  whom  by  his  manifold  ungentleness  he 
hath  ordered  and  made  himself  as  a  very  enemy.  Likewise,  dear 
friends,  consider  in  yourself  If  now  under  me  were  such  a  very 
deep  pit,  wherein  might  be  lions,  tigers,  and  bears  gaping  with 
open  mouth  to  destroy  and  devour  me  at  my  falling  down,  and 
that  there  be  nothing  whereby  I  might  be  holden  up  and  suc- 
coured, but  a  broken  bucket  or  pail  which  should  hang  by  a 
small  cord,  stayed  and  holden  up  only  by  the  hands  of  him  to 
whom  I  have  behaved  myself  as  an  enemy  and  adversary  by  great 
and  grievous  injuries  and  wrongs  done  unto  him.  Would  ye  not 
think  me  in  perilous  conditions  ?  yes,  without  fail.  Truly  all  we 
be  in  like  manner.  For  under  us  is  the  horrible  and  fearful  pit 
of  hell,  where  the  black  devils  in  the  likeness  of  ramping  and 
cruel  beasts  doth  abide  desirously  our  falling  down  to  them.  The 
lion,  the  tiger,  the  bear,  or  any  other  wild  beast  never  layeth  so 
busily  await  for  his  prey,  when  he  is  hungry,  as  doth  these  great 
and  horrible  hell  hounds,  the  devils,  for  us.  Of  whom  may  be 
heard  the  saying  of  Moses  :  Denies  bestiarttm  immiitam  iti  eos 
cum  furore  trahentitim  atque  serpentuin.  I  shall  send  down  among 
them  wild  beasts  to  gnaw  their  flesh,  with  the  woodness  of  cruel 
birds  and  serpents  drawing  and  tearing  their  bones.  There  is 
none  of  us  living  but  that  is  holden  up  from  falling  down  to  hell 
in  as  feeble  and  frail  vessel,  hanging  by  a  weak  line  as  may  be. 
I  beseech  you  what  vessel  may  be  more  bruckle  and  frail 
than  is  our  body  that  daily  needeth   reparation.      And  if  thou 

143 


144  ENGLISH  PROSE 


refresh  it  not,  anon  it  perisheth  and  cometh  to  nought.  An  house 
made  of  clay,  if  it  be  not  oft  renewed  and  repaired  with  putting 
to  of  new  clay  shall  at  the  last  fall  down.  And  much  more  this 
house  made  of  flesh,  this  house  of  our  soul,  this  vessel  wherein 
our  soul  is  holden  up  and  borne  about,  but  if  it  be  refreshed  by 
oft  feeding  and  putting  to  of  meat  and  drink,  within  the  space  of 
three  days  it  shall  waste  and  slip  away.  We  be  daily  taught  by 
experience  how  feeble  and  frail  man's  body  is.  Also  beholding 
daily  the  goodly  and  strong  bodies  of  young  people,  how  soon 
they  die  by  a  short  sickness.  And  therefore  Solomon,  in  the 
book  called  Ecclesiastes,  compareth  the  body  of  man  to  a  pot 
that  is  bruckle^  saying,  Mentejito  creatoris  tui  in  diebtis  juventutis 
tucs,  anteqitam  conteratur  hydria  super  fontem.  Have  mind  on 
thy  Creator  and  Maker  in  the  time  of  thy  young  age,  or  ever  the 
pot  be  broken  upon  the  fountain,  that  is  to  say,  thy  body,  and 
thou  peradventure  fall  into  the  well,  that  is  to  say  into  the  deep- 
ness of  hell.  This  pot,  man's  body,  hangeth  by  a  very  weak  cord, 
which  the  said  Solomon  in  the  same  place  calleth  a  cord  or  line 
made  of  silver.  Et  antequatn  riaiipatur  funiculus  argenteus. 
Take  heed,  he  saith,  or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  broken.  Truly 
this  silver  cord  whereby  our  soul  hangeth  and  is  holden  up  in 
this  pot,  in  this  frail  vessel  our  body,  is  the  life  of  man.  For  as 
a  little  cord  or  line  is  made  or  woven  of  a  few  threads,  so  is  the 
life  of  man  knit  together  by  four  humours,  that  as  long  as  they 
be  knit  together  in  a  right  order  so  long  is  man's  life  whole  and 
sound.  This  cord  also  hangeth  by  the  hand  and  power  of  God. 
For  as  Job  saith,  Quoniam  in  illius  manu  est  anima  {id  est  vita) 
omnis  viventis.  In  this  hand  and  power  is  the  life  of  every 
living  creature.  And  we  by  our  unkindness  done  against  His 
goodness  have  so  greatly  provoked  Him  to  wrath  that  it  is  marvel 
this  line  to  be  so  long  holden  up  by  His  power  and  majesty,  and 
if  it  be  broken,  this  pot  our  body  is  broken,  and  the  soul  slippeth 
down  into  the  pit  of  hell,  there  to  be  torn  and  all  to  rent  of  those 
most  cruel  hell  hounds.  O  good  Lord  how  fearful  condition 
stand  we  in  if  we  remember  these  jeopardies  and  perils,  and  if 
we  do  not  remember  them  we  may  say,  O  marvellous  blindness, 
ye  our  madness,  never  enough  to  be  wailed  and  cried  out  upon. 
Heaven  is  above  us,  wherein  Almighty  God  is  resident  and  ^bid- 
ing, which  giveth  Himself  to  us  as  our  Father,  if  we  obey  and  do 
according  unto  His  holy  commandments.  The  deepness  of  hell 
is  under  us,  greatly  to  be  abhorred,  full  of  devils.      Our  sins  and 


JOHN  FISHER  145 


wickedness  be  afore  us.  Behind  us  be  the  times  and  spaces  that 
were  offered  to  do  satisfaction  and  penance,  which  we  have 
negligently  lost.  On  our  right  hand  be  all  the  benefits  of  our 
most  good  and  meek  lord,  Almighty  God,  given  unto  us.  And 
on  our  left  hand  be  innumerable  misfortunes  that  might  have 
happed  if  that  Almighty  God  had  not  defended  us  by  his  good- 
ness and  meekness.  Within  us  is  the  most  stinking  abomination 
of  our  sin,  whereby  the  image  of  Almighty  God  in  us  is  very  foul 
deformed,  and  by  that  we  be  made  unto  Him  very  enemies.  By 
all  these  things  before  rehearsed  we  have  provoked  the  dreadful 
majesty  of  Him  unto  so  great  wrath  that  we  must  needs  fear,  lest 
that  He  let  fall  this  line  our  life  from  His  hands,  and  the  pot  our 
body  be  broken,  and  we  then  fall  down  into  the  deep  dungeon  of 
hell.  Therefore  what  shall  we  wretched  sinners  do,  of  whom 
may  help  and  succour  be  had  and  obtained  for  us  ?  By  what 
manner  sacrifice  may  the  wrath  and  ire  of  so  great  a  majesty  be 
pacified  and  made  easy  ?  Truly  the  best  remedy  is  to  be  swift 
in  doing  penance  for  our  sins.  He  only  may  help  them  to  that 
be  penitent.  By  that  only  sacrifice  His  ire  is  mitigate  and 
suaged  chiefly.  Our  most  gracious  Lord  .A.lmighty  God  is  merciful 
to  them  that  be  penitent.  Therefore  let  us  now  ask  His  mercy 
with  the  penitent  prophet  David.  Let  us  call  and  cry  before  the 
throne  of  His  grace,  saying.  Miserere  viei  Deus.  God  have 
mercy  on  me.  (Yrom  Sermofis  on  the  Psalms.) 


CHARACTER  OF   HENRY  VH. 

Forasmuch  as  this  honourable  audience  now  is  here  assembled 
to  prosecute  the  funeral  observances  and  ceremonies  about  this 
most  noble  prince  late  our  king  and  sovereign,  king  Henry  the 
seventh.  And  all  be  it  I  know  well  mine  unworthiness  and  in- 
abilities to  this  so  great  a  matter,  yet  for  my  most  bounden  duty, 
and  for  his  gracious  favour  and  singular  benefits  exhibit  unto  me 
in  this  life,  I  would  now  after  his  death  right  aftcctuously  some 
thing  say,  whereby  your  charities  the  rather  might  have  his  soul 
recommended.  And  to  that  purpose  I  will  entreat  the  first  psalm 
of  the  dirige,  which  psalm  was  written  of  the  holy  king  and 
prophet  king  David,  comforting  him  after  his  great  falls  and  tres- 
passes against  Almighty  God  and  read  in  the  church  in  the  funeral 
VOL.  I.  L 


146  ENGLISH  PROSE 


obsequies  of  every  Christian  person  when  that  he  dieth.  And 
specially  it  may  be  read  in  the  person  of  this  most  noble  prince, 
for  in  it  is  comprised  all  that  is  to  be  said  in  this  matter.  And 
in  the  same  order  that  the  secular  orators  have  in  their  funeral 
orations  most  diligently  observed,  which  resteth  in  three  points. 
First  in  the  commendation  of  him  that  dead  is.  Second  in  a 
stirring  of  the  hearers  to  have  compassion  upon  him.  And  third 
in  a  comforting  of  them  again.  Which  three  be  done  by  order  in 
this  same  psalm,  as  by  the  grace  of  our  Lord  it  may  here  after 
appear.  First,  as  touching  his  laud  and  commendation,  let  no 
man  think  that  mine  intent  is  for  to  praise  him  for  any  vain 
transitory  things  of  this  life,  which  by  the  example  of  him  all 
kings  and  princes  may  learn  how  sliding,  how  slippery,  how  failing 
they  be.  All  be  it  he  had  as  much  of  them  as  was  possible  in 
manner  for  any  king  to  have,  his  politic  wisdom  in  governance  it 
was  singular,  his  wit  alway  quick  and  ready,  his  reason  pithy  and 
substantial,  his  memory  fresh  and  holding,  his  experience  notable, 
his  counsels  fortunate  and  taken  by  wise  deliberation,  his  speech 
gracious  in  divers  languages,  his  person  goodly  and  amiable,  his 
natural  complexion  of  the  purest  mixture,  his  issue  fair  and  in 
good  number,  leagues  and  confederies  he  had  with  all  Christian 
princes,  his  mighty  power  was  dread  every  where,  not  only  within 
his  realm  but  without  also,  his  people  were  to  him  in  as  humble 
subjection  as  ever  they  were  to  king,  his  land  many  a  day  in  peace 
and  tranquillity,  his  prosperity  in  battle  against  his  enemies  was 
marvellous,  his  dealing  in  time  of  perils  and  dangers  was  cold  and 
sober  with  great  hardiness.  If  any  treason  were  conspired  against 
him  it  came  out  wonderfully,  his  treasure  and  richesse  incompar- 
able, his  buildings  most  goodly  and  after  the  newest  cast  all  of 
pleasure.  But  what  is  all  this  now  as  unto  him,  all  be  hut /umus 
et  umbra.  A  smoke  that  soon  vanisheth,  and  a  shadow  soon 
passing  away.  Shall  I  praise  him  then  for  them?  Nay,  forsooth. 
The  great  wise  man  Solon,  when  that  the  king  Croesus  had  shewed 
unto  him  all  his  glorious  state  and  condition  that  he  was  in  as 
touching  the  things  above  rehearsed,  he  would  not  afifirm  that  he 
was  blessed  for  all  that,  but  said  Expcctandus  est  finis.  The  end 
is  to  be  abiden  and  looked  upon,  wherein  he  said  full  truth,  all  be 
it  peradventure  not  as  he  intended,  but  verily  a  truth  it  is,  in  the 
end  is  all  together,  a  good  end  and  a  gracious  conclusion  of  the 
life  maketh  all,  and  therefore  .Seneca  in  his  epistles  saith,  Bonani 
vitcB  clausulam  impone.      In  any  wise  make  a  good  conclusion  of 


JOHN  FISHER  147 

thy  life,  which  thing  I  may  confirm  by  holy  letters.  In  the 
prophet  Ezekiel  it  is  written  and  spoken  by  the  mouth  of  God  in 
this  manner,  Justitia  justi  non  liberahit  eum  in  quacunque  die 
peccavcrit  et  impietas  impii  non  nocebit  ei  in  quacunque  die  con- 
vcrsus  fuerit  ab  inipietate  sua.  That  is  to  say,  if  the  righteous 
man  have  lived  never  so  virtuously,  and  in  the  end  of  his  life  com- 
mit one  deadly  sin  and  so  depart,  all  his  righteous  dealing  before 
shall  not  defend  him  from  everlasting  damnation,  and  in  contrary 
wise,  if  the  sinful  man  have  lived  never  so  wretchedly  in  times 
past,  yet  in  the  end  of  his  life  if  he  return  from  his  wickedness 
unto  God,  all  his  wickedness  before  shall  not  let  him  to  be  saved. 
Let  no  sinner  presume  of  this  to  do  amiss  or  to  continue  the 
longer  in  his  sin,  for  of  such  presumers  scant  one  among  a 
thousand  cometh  unto  this  grace,  but  the  death  taketh  them  or 
they  beware.  Let  no  man  also  murmur  against  this,  for  this  is 
the  great  treasure  of  the  mercy  of  Almighty  God,  and  against  such 
murmurs  is  sufficiently  answered  in  the  same  place,  for  what 
should  become  of  any  of  us  were  not  this  great  mercy  ?  Quis 
potest  diccre  tnundum  est  cor  nietiin,  innocens  ego  sum  a  peccato. 
Who  may  say  (saith  Ecclesiasticus)  mine  heart  is  clean,  I  am 
innocent  and  guiltless  of  sin.  As  who  saith,  no  man  may  speak 
this  word.  When  then  all  men  have  in  their  life  trespassed 
against  Almighty  God,  I  may  well  say  that  he  is  gracious  that 
maketh  a  blessed  end.  And  to  that  purpose  Saint  John  in  the 
Apocalypse  saith,  Beati  mortui  qui  in  domino  mofitintur.  Blessed 
are  those  which  have  made  virtuous  end  and  conclusion  of  their 
life  in  our  Lord,  which  verily  I  suppose  this  most  noble  prince 
hath  done,  the  proof  whereof  shall  stand  in  four  points.  The  first 
is  a  true  turning  of  his  soul  from  this  wretched  world  unto  the 
love  of  Almighty  God.  Second  is  a  fast  hope  and  confidence  that 
he  had  in  prayer.  Third  a  steadfast  belief  of  God  and  of  the 
sacraments  of  the  church.  Fourth  in  a  diligent  asking  of  mercy 
in  the  time  of  mercy,  which  four  points  by  order  be  expressed  in 
the  first  part  of  this  psalm.  As  to  the  first,  at  the  beginning  of 
Lent  last,  passed,  he  called  unto  him  his  confessor,  a  man  of 
singular  wisdom,  learning,  and  virtue,  by  whose  assured  instruc- 
tion I  speak  this  that  I  shall  say.  This  noble  prince,  after  his 
confession  made  with  all  diligence  and  great  repentance,  he 
promised  three  things,  that  is  to  say,  a  true  reformation  of  all 
them  that  were  officers  and  ministers  of  his  laws  to  the  intent 
that  justice,  from  henceforward,  truly  and  indifferently  might  be 


hS  ENGLISH  PROSE 


executed  in  all  causes.  Another,  that  the  promotions  of  the  church 
that  were  of  his  disposition  should,  from  henceforth,  be  disposed 
to  able  men  such  as  were  virtuous  and  well  learned.  Third,  that 
as  touching  the  dangers  and  jeopardies  of  his  laws  for  things  done 
in  times  past,  he  would  grant  a  pardon  generally  unto  all  his 
people,  which  three  things  he  let  not  openly  to  speak  to  divers  as 
did  resort  unto  him.  And  many  a  time  unto  his  secret  servants 
he  said  that  if  it  pleased  God  to  send  him  life,  they  should  see 
him  a  new  changed  man.  Furthermore,  with  all  humbleness  he 
recognised  the  singular  and  many  benefits  that  he  had  received  of 
Almighty  God,  and  with  great  repentance  and  marvellous  sorrow 
accused  himself  of  his  unkindness  towards  Him,  specially  that  he 
no  more  fervently  had  procured  the  honour  of  God,  and  that  he 
had  no  more  diligently  performed  the  will  and  pleasure  of  Him, 
wherein  he  promised,  by  the  grace  of  God,  an  assured  amend- 
ment. Who  may  suppose  but  that  this  man  had  verily  set  his 
heart  and  love  upon  God,  or  who  may  think  that  in  his  person 
may  not  be  said,  Dilexi,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  set  my  love  on  my 

(From  the  Funeral  Sermon  on  Henry  VII.) 


CHARACTER  OF  MARGARET,  COUNTESS  OF 
RICHMOND 

This  holy  Gospel,  late  read,  containeth  in  it  a  dialogue,  that  is 
to  say,  a  communication  betwixt  the  woman  of  blessed  memory 
called  Martha  and  our  Saviour  Jesu,  which  dialogue  I  would 
apply  unto  this  noble  princess  late  deceased,  in  whose  remem- 
brance this  office  and  observances  be  done  at  this  time.  And 
three  things,  by  the  leave  of  God,  I  will  entend.  First,  to  shew 
wherein  this  noble  princess  may  well  be  likened  and  compared 
unto  the  blessed  woman  Martha.  Second,  how  she  may  complain 
unto  our  Saviour  Jesu  for  the  painful  death  of  her  body,  like  as 
Martha  did  for  the  death  of  her  brother  Lazarus.  Third,  the 
comfortable  answer  of  our  Saviour  Jesu  unto  her  again.  In  the 
first  shall  stand  her  praise  and  commendation.  In  the  second 
our  mourning  for  the  loss  of  her.  In  the  third  our  comfort  again. 
First,  I  say  that  the  comparison  of  them  two  may  be  made  in 
four  things.  In  nobleness  of  person,  in  discipline  of  their  bodies, 
in  ordering  of  their  souls  to   God,   in  hospitalities  keeping  and 


JOHN  FISHER  149 


charitable  dealing  to  their  neighbours.  In  which  four,  the  noble 
woman  Martha  (as  say  the  doctors  entreating  this  gospel,  and 
her  life)  was  singularly  to  be  commended  and  praised,  wherefore 
let  us  consider  likewise,  whether  in  this  noble  countess  may  any 
thing  like  be  found.  First,  the  blessed  Martha  was  a  woman  of 
noble  blood,  to  whom  by  inheritance  belonged  the  castle  of 
Bethany,  and  this  nobleness  of  blood  they  have  which  descend  of 
noble  lineage.  Beside  this  there  is  a  nobleness  of  manners, 
without  which  the  nobleness  of  blood  is  much  defaced,  for  as 
Boetius  saith  :  If  ought  be  good  in  the  nobleness  of  blood  it  is 
for  that  thereby  the  noble  men  and  women  should  be  ashamed  to 
go^out  of  kind  from  the  virtuous  manners  of  their  ancestry  before. 
Yet  also  there  is  another  nobleness,  which  ariseth  in  every  person 
by  the  goodness  of  nature,  whereby  full  often  such  as  come  of 
right  poor  and  unnoble  father  and  mother,  have  great  abilities  of 
nature,  to  noble  deeds.  Above  all  these  same  there  is  a  fourth 
manner  of  nobleness,  which  may  be  called  an  increased  nobleness, 
as  by  marriage  and  affinity  of  more  noble  persons  such  as  were  of 
less  condition  may  increase  in  higher  degree  of  nobleness.  In 
every  of  these,  I  suppose,  this  countess  was  noble.  First,  she 
came  of  noble  blood  lineally  descending  of  King  Edward  III. 
within  the  fourth  degree  of  the  same.  Her  father  was  John,  Duke 
of  Somerset,  her  mother  was  called  Margaret,  right  noble  as  well 
in  manners  as  in  blood.  To  whom  she  was  a  very  daughter  in 
all  noble  manners,  for  she  was  bounteous  and  liberal  to  every 
person  of  her  knowledge  or  acquaintance.  Avarice  and  covetise 
she  most  hated,  and  sorrowed  it  full  much  in  all  persons,  but 
specially  in  any  that  belonged  unto  her.  She  was  also  of  singular 
easiness  to  be  spoken  unto,  and  full  courteous  answer  she  would 
make  to  all  that  came  unto  her.  Of  marvellous  gentleness  she 
was  unto  all  folks,  but  specially  unto  her  own,  whom  she  trusted 
and  loved  right  tenderly.  Unkind  she  would  not  be  unto  no 
creature,  nor  forgetful  of  any  kindness  or  sen-ice  done  to  her 
before,  which  is  no  little  part  of  very  nobleness.  She  was  not 
vengeable,  nor  cruel,  but  ready  anon  to  forget  and  to  forgive 
injuries  done  unto  her  at  the  least  desire  or  motion  made  unto 
her  for  the  same.  Merciful  also  and  piteous  she  was  unto  such 
as  was  grieved  and  wrongfully  troubled,  and  to  them  that  were  in 
poverty  or  sickness  or  any  other  misery.  To  God  and  to  the 
church  full  obedient  and  tractable,  searching  His  honour  and 
pleasure   full   busily.       A  wariness  of  herself  she  had   alway  to 


1 50  ENGLISH  PR  OSE 


eschew  every  thing  that  might  dishonest  any  noble  woman,  or 
distain  her  honour  in  any  condition.  Trifelous  things  that  were 
little  to  be  regarded  she  would  let  pass  by,  but  the  other  that 
were  of  weight  and  substance  wherein  she  might  profit  she  would 
not  let  for  any  pain  or  labour  to  take  upon  hand.  These  and 
many  other  such  noble  conditions  left  unto  her  by  her  ancestors 
she  kept,  and  increased  them  with  a  great  diligence.  The  third 
nobleness  also  she  wanted  not,  which  I  said  was  the  nobleness  of 
nature.  She  had  in  manner  all  that  was  praisable  in  a  woman 
either  in  soul  or  in  body.  First  she  was  of  singular  wisdom  far 
passing  the  common  rate  of  women,  she  was  good  in  remembrance 
and  of  holding  memory.  A  ready  wit  she  had  also  to  conceive 
all  things.  Albeit  they  were  right  dark,  right  studious  she  was 
in  books  which  she  had  in  great  number,  both  in  English  and  in 
French,  and  for  her  exercise  and  for  the  profit  of  other,  she  did 
translate  divers  matters  of  devotion  out  of  French  into  English. 
Full  often  she  complained  that  in  her  youth  she  had  not  given 
her  to  the  understanding  of  Latin,  wherein  she  had  a  little  per- 
ceiving, specially  of  the  rubric  of  the  ordinal  for  the  saying  of 
her  service,  which  she  did  well  understand.  Hereunto  in  favour, 
in  words,  in  gesture,  in  every  demeanour  of  herself  so  great 
nobleness  did  appear,  that  what  she  spake  or  did  it  marvellously 
became  her.  The  fourth  nobleness  which  we  named,  a  nobleness 
gotten  or  increased,  she  had  also.  For  albeit  she  of  her  lineage 
were  right  noble,  yet  nevertheless  by  marriage,  and  adjoining  of 
other  blood  it  took  some  increasement.  For  in  her  tender  age 
she,  being  endued  with  so  great  towardness  of  nature,  and  likeli- 
hood of  inheritance,  many  sued  to  have  had  her  to  marriage. 
The  Duke  of  Suffolk,  which  then  was  a  man  of  great  experience, 
most  diligently  procured  to  have  had  her  for  his  son  and  heir. 
Of  the  contrary  part  King  Henry  VI.  did  make  means  for  Edmond 
his  brother,  then  the  Earl  of  Richmond.  She,  which  as  then  was 
not  fully  nine  years  old,  doubtful  in  her  mind  what  she  were  best 
to  do,  asked  counsel  of  an  old  gentlewoman  whom  she  much 
loved  and  trusted,  which  did  advise  her  to  commend  herself  to 
Saint  Nicholas,  the  patron  and  helper  of  all  true  maidens,  and  to 
beseech  him  to  put  in  her  mind  what  she  were  best  to  do.  This 
counsel  she  followed,  and  made  her  prayer  so  full  often,  but 
specially  that  night  when  she  should  the  morrow  after  make 
answer  of  her  mind  determinately.  A  marvellous  thing,  that  same 
night  as  I   have  heard  her  tell  many  a  time,  as  she  lay  in  prayer 


JOHN  FISHER  151 


calling  upon  Saint  Nicholas,  whether  sleeping  or  waking  she 
could  not  assure,  but  about  four  of  the  clock  in  the  morning,  one 
appeared  unto  her  arrayed  like  a  bishop,  and  naming  unto  her 
Edmond,  bade  take  him  unto  her  husband.  And  so  by  this 
mean  she  did  incline  her  mind  unto  Edmond,  the  king's  brother, 
and  Earl  of  Richmond.  By  whom  she  was  made  mother  of  the 
king  that  dead  is,  whose  soul  God  pardon,  and  granddame  to  our 
sovereign  lord  King  Henr}'  VIII.,  which  now  by  the  grace  of 
God  governeth  the  realm.  So  what  by  lineage,  what  by  affinity, 
she  had  thirty  kings  and  queens  within  the  fourth  degree  of 
marriage  unto  her,  beside  earls,  marquises,  dukes,  and  princes. 
And  thus  much  we  have  spoken  of  her  nobleness. 

(From  the  Mourning  for  the  Lady  Margaret^  Countess  of 
Richmond. ) 


COMPARISON    BETWEEN    THE     LIFE    OF    HUNTERS 
AND  THAT   OF  CHRISTIANS 

Sister  Elizabeth,  gladly  I  would  write  unto  you  some  thing  that 
might  be  to  the  health  of  your  soul  and  furtherance  of  it  in  holy 
religion.  But  well  I  know  that  without  some  fervour  in  the  love 
of  Christ,  religion  cannot  be  to  you  savoury,  nor  any  work  of 
goodness  can  be  delectable,  but  every  virtuous  deed  shall  seem 
laborious  and  painful.  For  love  maketh  every  work  appear  easy 
and  pleasant,  though  it  be  right  displeasant  of  itself.  And  con- 
trariwise right  easy  labour  appeareth  grievous  and  painful,  when 
the  soul  of  the  person  that  doeth  the  deed,  hath  no  desire  nor 
love  in  doing  of  it.  This  thing  may  well  appear  by  the  life  of 
hunters,  the  which  out  of  doubt  is  more  laborious  and  painful 
than  is  the  life  of  religious  persons,  and  yet  nothing  sustaineth 
them  in  their  labour  and  pains,  but  the  earnest  love  and  hearty 
desire  to  find  their  game.  Regard  no  less  my  writing,  good 
sister,  though  to  my  purpose  I  use  the  example  of  hunters,  for  all 
true  Christian  souls  be  called  hunters,  and  their  office  and  duty 
is  to  seek  and  hunt  for  to  find  Christ  Jesu.  And  therefore  scrip- 
ture in  many  places  exhorteth  us  to  seek  after  Him,  and  assureth 
that  He  will  be  found  of  them  that  diligently  seek  after  Him. 
Im'enietur  ab  his  qui  qucprunt  eum.  That  is  to  say.  He  will  be 
found  of  them  that  seek   Him,  well  happy  are  all  those  that  can 


152  ENGLISH  PROSE 


find  Him,  or  can  have  any  scent  of  Him  in  this  hfe  here.  For 
that  scent  (as  Saint  Paul  saith)  is  the  scent  of  the  very  hfe.  And 
the  devout  souls,  where  they  feel  this  scent,  they  run  after  him  a 
pace.  Citrremus  in  odorem  unguent orion  tuoriini.  That  is  to 
say,  we  shall  run  after  the  scent  of  Thy  sweet  ointments.  Seeing 
then  all  devout  souls  may  be  called  hunters,  I  will  further  prose- 
cute the  comparison  made  before  between  the  life  of  the  hunters 
and  the  life  of  the  religious  persons  after  this  manner. 

What  life  is  more  painful  and  laborious  of  itself  than  is  the 
life  of  hunters  which,  most  early  in  the  morning,  break  their  sleep 
and  rise  when  others  do  take  their  rest  and  ease,  and  in  his 
labour  he  may  use  no  plain  highways  and  the  soft  grass,  but  he 
must  tread  upon  the  fallows,  run  over  the  hedges,  and  creep 
through  the  thick  bushes,  and  cry  all  the  long  day  upon  his  dogs, 
and  so  continue  without  meat  or  drink  until  the  very  night  drive 
him  home  ;  these  labours  be  unto  him  pleasant  and  joyous,  for 
the  desire  and  love  that  he  hath  to  see  the  poor  hare  chased 
with  dogs.  Verily,  verily,  if  he  were  compelled  to  take  upon  him 
such  labours,  and  not  for  this  cause,  he  would  soon  be  weary  of 
them,  thinking  them  full  tedious  unto  him  ;  neither  would  he  rise 
out  of  his  bed  so  soon,  nor  fast  so  long,  nor  endure  these  other 
labours  unless  he  had  a  very  love  therein.  For  the  earnest 
desire  of  his  mind  is  so  fixed  upon  his  game,  that  all  these  pains 
be  thought  to  him  but  very  pleasures.  And  therefore  I  may  well 
say  that  love  is  the  principal  thing  that  maketh  any  work  easy, 
though  the  work  be  right  painful  of  itself,  and  that  without  love 
no  labour  can  be  comfortable  to  the  doer.  The  love  of  his  game 
delighteth  him  so  much  that  he  careth  for  no  worldly  honour,  but 
is  content  with  full  simple  and  homely  array.  Also  the  goods  of  the 
world  he  seeketh  not  for,  nor  studieth  how  to  attain  them.  For  the 
love  and  desire  of  his  game  so  greatly  occupieth  his  mind  and  heart. 
The  pleasures  also  of  his  flesh  he  forgetteth  by  weariness  and 
wasting  of  his  body  in  earnest  labour.  All  his  mind,  all  his  soul, 
is  busied  to  know  where  the  poor  hare  may  be  found.  Of  that  is 
his  thought,  and  of  that  is  his  communication,  and  all  his  delight  is 
to  hear  and  speak  of  that  matter,  every  other  matter  but  this,  is 
tedious  for  him  to  give  ear  unto  ;  in  all  other  things  he  is  dull 
and  unlusty,  in  this  only  quick  and  stirring.  For  this  also  to  be 
done,  there  is  no  office  so  humble,  nor  so  vile,  that  he  refuseth 
not  to  serve  his  own  dogs  himself,  to  bathe  their  feet,  and  to 
anoint  them  where  they  be  sore,  yea  and  to  cleanse  their  kennel 


JOHN  FISHER  153 


where  they  shall  lie  and  rest  them.  Surely  if  religious  persons 
had  so  earnest  a  mind  and  desire  to  the  service  of  Christ,  as  have 
these  hunters  to  see  a  course  at  a  hare,  their  life  should  be  unto 
them  a  very  joy  and  pleasure.  For  what  other  be  the  pains  of 
religion  but  these  that  I  have  spoken  of  That  is  to  say,  much 
fasting,  crying,  and  coming  to  the  choir,  forsaking  of  worldly 
honours,  worldly  riches,  and  fleshly  pleasures,  and  communication 
of  the  world,  humble  service,  and  obedience  to  his  sovereign,  and 
charitable  dealing  to  his  sister,  which  pains,  in  every  point,  the 
hunter  taketh  and  sustaineth  more  largely  for  the  love  that  he 
hath  to  his  game,  than  do  many  religious  persons  for  the  love  of 
Christ.  For  albeit,  the  religious  person  riseth  at  midnight  which 
is  painful  to  her  in  very  deed,  yet  she  went  before  that  to  her  bed 
at  a  convenient  hour,  and  also  cometh  after  to  her  bed  again. 
But  the  hunter  riseth  early,  and  so  continueth  forth  all  the  long 
day,  no  more  returning  to  his  bed  until  the  very  night,  and  yet 
peradventure  he  was  late  up  the  night  before,  and  full  often  up  all 
the  long  nights. 

(From    The    Ways    to   Perfect   Religion.      Written    while 
prisoner  in  the  Tower.) 


SIR  THOMAS  MORE 


[Thomas  More  was  the  eldest  son  of  Master,  afterwards  Sir  John,  More, 
Judge  in  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  who  died  in  1530,  and  who,  as  report 
went  and  the  name  seems  to  indicate,  was  probably  of  Irish  extraction. 
Thomas  was  born  in  Milk  Street,  Cheapside,  7th  February  1478,  and  received 
his  early  education  in  St.  Anthony's,  Threadneedle  Street,  one  of  Henry  VI. 's 
Grammar  Schools.  At  thirteen  he  was  placed  as  a  page  in  the  household  of 
Archbishop  Morton,  and  the  following  year  removed,  probably  at  his  patron's 
instance,  to  O.xford,  where  during  the  two  years  of  his  residence  at  Canterbury 
College  he  threw  himself  with  ardour  into  the  new  study  of  Greek.  In  1494, 
however,  he  left  without  a  degree,  his  father  being  impatient  for  him  to  begin  his 
legal  studies,  and  passed  first  to  New  Inn  and  then  to  Lincoln's  Inn.  Shortly 
after  this,  while  still  a  mere  lad,  he  was  appointed  Reader  in  Law  at  Lincoln's 
Inn  for  three  years.  About  1498  he  seems  to  have  met  Erasmus,  and  a  warm 
attachment  sprung  up  between  the  two  great  scholars  which  was  only  terminated 
by  More's  death.  The  addition  of  Colet,  who  in  1504  settled  in  London, 
completed  the  devotion  of  More  to  the  Humanistic  movement.  Colet's 
influence  was  thenceforth  decisive  with  him,  and  had  it  not  been  removed  in 
15 19  by  death,  might  have  prevented  or  at  least  considerably  modified  his  later 
reactionary  attitude.  In  1500  he  lectured  in  public  on  St.  Augustine's  De 
Civiiate  Dei  with  the  applause  of  scholars  like  Grocyn.  From  1500  to  1504 
he  submitted  to  the  austerities  of  the  Carthusian  rule,  but  apparently  finding  him- 
self unsuited  for  monastic  life,  married  in  1505  his  first  wife,  Jane  Holt,  daughter 
of  a  country  gentleman  in  Esse.x.  In  1502  he  became  Undersheriff  of  London, 
then  a  judicial  office  of  some  dignity  :  in  1504  having  been  elected  Burgess, 
he  successfully  opposed  in  the  House  of  Commons  an  extravagant  money 
grant,  at  once  establishing  his  reputation  as  a  speaker  and  drawing  down  upon 
his  family  the  royal  displeasure.  The  remainder  of  the  reign  (1503-1509)  was 
spent  in  a  prudent  retirement  and  the  renewal  of  his  Oxford  studies.  During 
this  which  may  be  regarded  as  his  first  literary  period,  were  written  most  of  his 
Latin  Epigrammata.  In  1509  Henry  VII. 's  death  restored  More  to  public  life 
and  brought  the  men  of  the  new  learning  into  court  favour.  In  1514  he  was 
made  Master  of  Requests  and  knighted.  From  151 5  to  1523  he  was  employed 
on  a  succession  of  diplomatic  missions,  chiefly  to  the  Low  Countries,  one  of 
which  suggested  the  introductory  machinery  of  his  Utopia,  printed  in  1516. 
His  History  of  Richard  III.  was  written  about  the  same  time.  In  1519, 
under  great  pressure,  he  entered  the  royal  service,  giving  up  his  practice  at 
the  bar  and  the  Undersheriffship.      In  1521  he  was  made  Treasurer  of  the 

155 


156  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Exchequer,  in  1524  speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  Chancellor  of  the 
Duchy  of  Lancaster  in  1525,  and  finally,  on  the  fall  of  Wolsey  in  1529,  Lord 
Chancellor.  To  avoid  entanglements  in  the  Divorce  Question,  on  which  he 
could  not  take  the  king's  side,  he  resigned  office  in  1532  and  withdrew  into 
•poverty  and,  as  he  hoped,  obscurity.  The  second,  however,  was  impossible  for 
the  author  of  Utopia  and  bosom-friend  of  Erasmus.  Henry  was  resolved  to 
have  his  support  or  his  life.  Absurd  charges  of  implication  in  the  Nun  of 
Kent's  treason  and  of  judicial  venality  were  easily  refuted  ;  but  in  1534  he  was 
imprisoned  for  refusing  the  oath  to  maintain  the  Act  of  Succession,  and,  after 
a  year's  detention  which  completely  shattered  his  health,  condemned  under  the 
Act  of  Supremacy  and  executed  July  6,  1535. 

A  complete  edition  of  his  Latin  works  was  published  in  1689  at  Frankfort. 
His  collected  English  writings,  consisting  mainly  of  theological  pamphlets, 
were  published  in  black-letter  quarto  by  Tottell  in  1557  (pp.  1458)  ;  that  there 
has  been  no  re-issue  is  due  partly  to  the  unpopularity  of  the  doctrines  they 
express,  but  still  more  to  their  formidable  extent  and  ephemeral  interest.  The 
Utopia  was  first  published  in  Latin  at  l^ouvain  in  1516.  Three  English  transla- 
tions exist,  one  by  R.  Robynson,  printed  1551,  1556,  1624,  1639,  and  reprinted 
by  Dibdin,  1808,  and  by  E.  Arber,  1859  ;  the  second  by  Gilbert  Burnet,  Bishop 
of  Salisbury,  published  in  1681,  and  in  nine  subsequent  editions  ;  the  third  by 
Arthur  Cayley  (1808)  in  Memoirs  of  Sir  Thotnas  More.  2  vols.  4to.  It  is  from 
the  first  of  these  that  the  extracts  are  taken.  The  Life  of  Richard  IIL  was 
written  about  1513,  and  first  printed  in  Grafton's  continuation  of  Hardyng' s 
Chronicle  (1543)  ;  the  first  correct  edition,  however,  is  contained  in  Tottell's 
volume  (1557J  and  has  been  recently  re-edited  by  Lumby  (Camb.  1883).] 

As  scholar,  writer,  lawyer,  and  perhaps  diplomatist,  More  was  the 
foremost  Englishman  of  his  time.  Colet,  Erasmus,  and  More  were 
the  three  leaders  who  created  the  Oxford  or  Humanist  Reform 
movement  ;  but  as  monkish  bigotrj^  made  More  a  Reformer, 
so  Protestant  bigotry  threw  him  back  into  the  ranks  of  reaction. 
He  wrote  in  English  and  Latin,  in  prose  and  verse. 

I.  Verse. — («)  His  English  poems  are  of  value  only  as  proving 
that  his  bent  lay  in  a  different  direction,  (f))  The  Epigrammata 
show  that  he  was  more  at  home  in  Latin  elegiacs  than  in  English 
Skeltonics  or  rhyme  royal.  They  are  rather  vers  doccasion  than 
epigrams  in  the  modern  sense,  and  often  possess  the  same  auto- 
biographical interest  which  attaches  to  Swift's  occasional  pieces. 
The  Latin  elegiac  couplet,  in  fact,  was  as  much  the  proper  vehicle 
for  this  kind  of  writing  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  sixteenth  century 
as  the  English  heroic  couplet  afterwards  became  under  Queen 
Anne.  It  is  here  sufficient  to  notice  that  More  enjoyed  in  this 
respect  a  European  reputation  second  only  to  that  of  Erasmus, 
and  that  Doctor  Johnson  1  even  assigns  to  him  the  superiority. 

^  rh  TrpCoTov  Muipos,  to  S^  Sevrepov  eVKev  'Epacr/ids, 
rb  rpirov  (k  Mol'(^cD^  aHfina  MtKvXXos  ^X^'- 


SIR  THOMAS  MOKE  157 

M 

II.  Prose. — Of  his  prose  works,  by  far  the  most  important 
intrinsically  is  the  Utopia.  The  English  version,  however,  is  not 
by  him  ;  so  pungent  was  the  satire  that  not  even  the  original 
Latin  could  be  published  in  England  during  Henry  VIII. 's  life- 
time. For  specimens  of  More's  English  style  we  must,  therefore, 
turn  to  other  and  less  famous  compositions. 

{a)  Life  of  John  Picus,  Earl  of  Mirafidula,  i  5  i  o,  not  an 
original  work,  but  a  translation  from  a  Latin  life.  Its  value  lies 
both  in  the  training  it  gave  for  the  formation  of  that  easy  and 
nervous  style  which  is  perfected  in  the  History  of  Richard  III.., 
and  also  in  the  picture  it  displays  of  a  career  which  made  a 
profound  impression  on  More.  The  parallel  between  them  is 
close.  Both  began  as  humanists  and  ended  as  theologians  ;  the 
life  of  each  was  largely  determined  by  the  influence  of  a  great 
preacher ;  in  each  rich  mental  endowment  was  accompanied  by  a 
sensuous  delicacy  that  might  easily  pass  into  sensuality ;  and 
both  remained  laymen  till  the  end. 

{p)  Historic  of  Richard  III.- — In  the  Historic  we  see  the 
happy  result  of  that  long  and  continuous  practice  which  Erasmus 
tells  us  his  friend  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  his  prose  style. 
It  is  certainly  the  first  good  historical  English  prose.  This  must 
be  largely  attributed  to  the  union  in  More  of  two  qualifications 
which  had  hitherto  not  been  found  together.  He  was  at  once  a 
finished  Latin  scholar  and  the  most  racy  English  conversationalist 
of  his  day.  Thus  he  has  succeeded  in  investing  his  narrative 
with  a  certain  classical  shapeliness  and  dignity  without  impairing 
the  freshness  and  vigour  of  the  native  vein  ;  the  former  never 
becomes  stilted,  the  latter  never  passes  into  the  broad  mannerisms 
which  disfigure  most  Elizabethan  and  much  Jacobean  prose.  In 
fact,  what  Chaucer  had  done  for  English  vocabulary,  More  did 
for  English  style  ;  to  the  two  together  we  owe  the  fixing  of  the 
true  proportion  in  which  the  Teutonic  and  Latin  elements  of  the 
language  are  most  effectively  blended.  Chaucer  is  the  father  of 
English  verse  ;  More  has  almost  an  equal  claim  to  be  called  the 
father  of  English  prose.  Their  genius,  indeed,  is  not  dissimilar 
though  exercised  in  different  domains  ;  above  all,  they  resemble 
each  other  in  that  subtle,  humour  and  perfect  sanity  of  judgment, 
springing  from  a  just  balance  of  the  faculties,  which  have  stamped 
their  literary  innovations  with  classic  permanence.  Hallam  calls 
the  Historic  "  the  first  example  of  good  English  language  :  pure 
and  perspicuous,  well  chosen,  without  vulgarisms  and  pedantry," 


158  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  notices  it  as  "  the  first  book  I  have  read  through  without 
detecting  any  remnant  of  obsolete  forms." 

(f)  The  Polemical  Tracts^  though  far  the  most  voluminous  of 
his  writings,  are  those  by  which  he  will  be  least  remembered. 
They  almost  fill  a  formidable  quarto  black-letter  volume  of  over 
1400  pages  (equivalent  to  about  2400  of  the  present  volume), 
difficult  to  read  because  of  the  print,  and  disappointing  both  in 
matter  and  treatment  ;  for  the  rabid  abuse  in  which  honest 
Protestant  fanatics  habitually  indulged  provoked  an  equally  violent 
and  still  more  unworthy  tone  in  the  great  scholar.  Every  now  and 
then,  however,  his  native  humour  breaks  out  in  some  irresistible 
story  or  allusion,  such  as  "  Tenterden  Steeple  and  Goodwin 
Sands,"  "  The  Ass  and  the  Wolf  shriving  themselves  to  the 
Fox,"  "The  Lady  who  by  Tight-lacing  bought  Hell  very  dear," 
which  repays  the  tedium  of  pages  of  scurrility.  Unattractive  as 
they  at  first  sight  appear,  these  pamphlets  yet  possess  considerable 
interest,  both  biographical  and  literary.  From  them  we  see  how 
completely  he  had  shifted  his  theological  position.  The  Utopia 
and  Epigraminata  abound  in  humorous  ridicule  of  medieval 
superstitions,  the  Polemical  Tracts  defend  them  root  and  branch  : 
the  first  preach  religious  toleration,  the  second  the  duty  of 
persecuting  heretics.  The  style,  too,  though  less  dignified  than 
that  of  the  Historie,  is  quite  as  vigorous  and  expressive,  and 
moves  perhaps  with  greater  freedom.  The  principal  are:  {1)  A 
Dyalogue  concertiing  Heresies  and  Matters  of  Religion,  1528 
(4  books,  183  pp.),  against  Luther  and  Tyndall.  (2)  The 
Siipplicacion  of  Soules  against  the  Siipplicacion  of  Beggars, 
I  529  {vide  Extract),  an  answer  to  Fish's  petition  urging  the  king 
to  confiscate  the  Church  property  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor. 
More  presents  a  counter  petition  from  the  souls  in  purgatory 
expressing    their   horror  at   the   prospect   of  losing  their  masses. 

(3)  Confutacion  of  TyndaWs  Aunswere,  1532,  the  largest  of 
all  (470  pp.),  is  an  elaborate  attack  on  Tyndale's  translation  of 
the  New  Testament,  and  the  substitution  it  was  intended  to 
effect  of  the    Gospel   for  the  Church  as  the  ultimate  authority. 

(4)  The  Apology  of  Sir  Thos.  More,  Knight,  1533,  though 
much  shorter  (80  pp.),  is  of  far  greater  interest,  being  an  answer 
to  personal  attacks  evoked  by  his  earlier  pamphlets.  It  deals 
with  charges  of  controversial  unfairness,  of  substituting  invective 
for  argument  (ch.  ix.),  and  of  torturing  heretics  in  his  own  house 
{vide  Extract),  denying  the  first  and  third,  and  naively  admitting 


SIR   THOMAS  MORE  159 

the  second  ;  and  abounds  in  interesting  references  {e.g.,  the 
Prentice  Riot  in  London,  ch.  xlvii.)  (5)  The  Dcbellacyon  of 
Salem  and  Bisance,  1533  (90  pp.);  and  (6)  The  Answer  to  the 
First  Parts  of  the  Poisoned  Book  %vhich  a  Nameless  Heretyk  hath 
named  the  Supper  of  the  Lord  (100  pp.),  call  for  no  special 
notice.  It  is  different  with  the  two  last,  which  were  composed 
during  his  final  imprisonment,  and  exhibit  a  chastened  resigna- 
tion and  charity  in  pleasing  contrast  with  the  earlier  tone.  (7)  A 
Dyalogue  of  Cotnforte  agaitist  THbttlacion,  1534  (125  pp.),  is 
supposed  to  pass  between  a  Hungarian  gentleman  and  his 
nephew.  The  object  is  devotional  rather  than  polemical  {vide 
Extract),  and  the  best  argument  in  the  book  is  its  spirit.  It  is 
striking  how,  as  bitterness  departs,  the  old  mellow  humour 
revives.  {^)  A  Treatise  upon  the  Passion  of  our  Lord  Chryste 
(134  pp.),  is  an  unfinished  devotional  commentary  on  the  latter 
part  of  the  Gospel  narrative. 

To  return  now  to  the  most  permanent  product  of  his  genius. 
The  Utopia.,  i  516,  was  originally  written  in  Latin,  partly  to  secure 
a  wider  audience,  partly  for  safety,  and  won  for  its  author  an 
immediate  European  reputation  side  by  side  with  the  author  of 
MoricE  Encomium.,  whose  Novum  Lnstrumentwn  appeared  in  the 
same  year.  It  consists  of  two  books — the  former  introductory 
and  critical,  the  latter  constructive.  The  second  was  composed 
in  I  5 1  5  in  the  course  of  an  embassy  to  Brussels,  the  first  being 
only  elaborated  after  the  author's  return  to  England  in  15 16. 
The  discovery  of  the  new  world  offered  a  convenient  peg  on 
which  to  hang  his  satire.  While  at  Antwerp  he  meets  a  certain 
Portuguese  explorer,  Raphael  Hythlodaye  by  name,  who  had 
made  several  voyages  with  Amerigo  Vespucci,  on  the  last  of 
which  he  had  been  left  behind  at  his  own  desire  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Cape  Frio,  and  had  thence  made  his  way  to  the  island 
of  Utopia  (nowhere),  the  supposed  seat  of  the  ideal  constitution 
sketched  in  book  ii.  An  air  of  historic  verisimilitude  is  thus 
created,  which  is  ingeniously  heightened  by  the  publication  at 
the  end  of  the  pamphlet  of  a  specimen  of  Utopian  verse,  and 
by  the  affectation  of  uncertainty  as  to  a  few  details,  on  which 
More  writes  to  consult  the  Antwerp  merchant  at  whose  house  the 
meeting  had  taken  place. 

In  book  i.  Hythlodaye  frankly  states  his  opinion  with  regard 
to  the  social  and  political  evils  he  observed  in  England,  hinting 
how  much  better  they  managed  these  things  in  Utopia,  and  then 


l6o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


consents  to  gratify  at  a  subsequent  meeting  the  curiosity  his 
comparison  had  excited.  More  is  thus  able  to  attack  both  the 
pettifogging  financial  tyranny  of  Henry  VII.,  from  which  he 
himself  had  suffered,  and  also  the  warlike  schemes  by  which  the 
younger  Henry  was  already  dissipating  the  ecstatic  hopes  of  the 
Humanists.  Of  still  greater  interest  is  the  picture  of  English 
society,  the  absurd  severity  of  the  criminal  law,  the  agrarian 
revolution  {rnde  Extract),  the  contrast  between  the  growing 
luxury  and  self-indulgence  of  the  rich  and  the  wretched  condition 
of  the  labouring  classes.  The  state,  in  short,  seemed  to  the 
writer  "  nothing  but  a  certain  conspiracy  of  rich  men  procuring 
their  own  commodities  under  the  name  of  a  commonwealth,"  and 
he  is  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  "  perfect  wealth  shall  never  be 
among  men  till  this  wealth  be  exiled  and  banished."  Such  an 
acceptance  of  socialism  was  easier  for  More  than  for  a  modern 
thinker.  Plato,  the  idol  of  the  new  learning,  had  banished 
property  from  his  Republic,  and  state  regulation  was  more  con- 
sonant with  medieval  ideas  than  unrestricted  competition.  In- 
cidentally various  institutions  are  classed  and  satirised  with  the 
quiet  fun  in  which  More  has  no  superior. 

The  modern  reader  will  be  chiefly  struck  by  the  prophetic 
prescience  with  which  he  anticipates  many  nineteenth -century 
reforms,  such  as  the  substitution  of  penal  servitude  fbr  capital 
punishment,  national  education,  sanitation,  and  (more  question- 
able) State  limitation  of  the  hours  of  labour.  The  passage  de- 
scribing the  ethical  philosophy  of  the  Utopians  ((inde  Extract) 
might  almost  have  been  written  by  a  disciple  of  John  Stuart  Mill, 
while  in  their  religious  organisation  is  depicted  a  system  of 
multiplicity  in  unity  which  we  are  still  far  from  having  attained, 
a  system  of  families  and  sects  each  in  private  practising  its  own 
special  cult,  but  all  uniting  in  one  national  worship. 

The  influence  of  the  Utopia  has  been  immense.  It  set  a 
literary  and  a  philosophic  fashion.  To  it  we  owe  not  merely 
subsequent  Ideal  Republics,  such  as  Campanella's  Civitas  SoUs 
and  Bacon's  New  Atlantis,  but  much  of  that  spirit  of  politi- 
cal speculation  which  in  the  following  century  gave  birth  to 
Hobbe's  Leviathan,  Filmer's  Patriarcha,  and  Locke's  Civil 
Government. 

More's  genius  is  of  that  high  order  in  which  the  intellectual 
and  moral  powers  seem  to  interpenetrate  and  vitalise  each  other. 
He   had   a   singular  wholeness  ,of  nature.      His  satire   does  not 


SIR  THOMAS  MORE  l6i 

blast  like  Swift's,  it  does  not  sting  like  the  spiteful  venom  of 
Pope,  nor  crush  with  the  direct  force  of  Johnson's  ponderous 
indignation,  nor  again  has  it  the  unconscious  naivete  of  Caxton  ; 
perhaps  its  quality  most  nearly  approaches  the  subtle  pervasive, 
ness  of  the  Platonic  irony.  His  personality  had  a  certain  Celtic 
charm  which  at  once  took  men  like  Erasmus  and  Colet  captive. 
At  his  best,  perhaps  no  phrase,  so  aptly  sums  him  up  as  the 
hackneyed  "sweetness  and  light."  The  closer  his  hfe  and 
writings  are  examined  the  more  irresistible  becomes  the  saying 
of  Colet,  quoted  by  Erasmus,  that  he  was  "  Britannias  non  nisi 
unicum  ingenium." 

H.  R.  Reichel 


VOL.   I.  w 


PASTURAGE  DESTROYING  HUSBANDRY. 

But  yet  this  is  not  only  the  necessary  cause  of  stealing.  There 
is  another,  which,  as  I  suppose,  is  proper  and  peculiar  to  you 
Englishmen  alone.  What  is  that,  quoth  the  Cardinal  ?  forsooth 
my  lord  (quoth  I),  your  sheep  that  were  wont  to  be  so  meek  and 
tame,  and  so  small  eaters,  now,  as  I  heard  say,  be  become  so  great 
devourers  and  so  wild,  that  they  eat  up,  and  swallow  down  the 
very  men  themselves.  They  consume,  destroy,  and  devour  whole 
fields,  houses,  and  cities.  For  look  in  what  parts  of  the  realm 
doth  grow  the  finest,  and  therefore  dearest  wool,  there  noble  men, 
and  gentlemen,  yea  and  certain  Abbots,  holy  men  no  doubt,  not 
contenting  themselves  with  the  yearly  revenues  and  profits,  that 
were  wont  to  grow  to  their  forefathers  and  predecessors  of  their 
lands,  nor  being  content  that  they  live  in  rest  and  pleasure  nothing 
profiting,  yea  much  noying  the  weal  public,  leave  no  ground  for 
tillage  :  they  inclose  all  into  pastures,  they  throw  down  houses, 
they  pluck  down  towns,  and  leave  nothing  standing,  but  only  the 
church  to  be  made  a  sheephouse.  And  as  though  you  lost  no 
small  quantity  of  ground  by  forests,  chases,  lawns,  and  parks, 
those  good  holy  men  turn  all  dwelling  places  and  all  glebeland  into 
desolation  and  wilderness.  Therefore  that  one  covetou's  and  unsa- 
tiable  cormorant  and  very  plague  of  his  native  country  may  compass 
about  and  inclose  many  thousand  acres  of  ground  together  within 
one  pale  or  hedge,  the  husbandmen  be  thrust  out  of  their  own,  or 
else  either  by  coveyne  and  fraud,  or  by  violent  oppression  they  be 
put  besides  it,  or  by  wrongs  and  injuries  they  be  so  wearied,  that 
they  be  compelled  to  sell  all  :  by  one  means  therefore  or  by  other, 
either  by  hook  or  crook  they  must  needs  depart  away,  poor,  silly, 
wretched  souls,  men,  women,  husbands,  wives,  fatherless  children, 
widows,  woful  mothers,  with  their  young  babes,  and  their  whole  house- 
hold small  in  substance  and  much  in  number,  as  husbandry  requireth 
many  hands.  Away  they  trudge,  I  say,  out  of  their  known  and 
162 


S//?  THOMAS  MORE  163 

accustomed  houses,  finding  no  place  to  rest  in.  All  their  house- 
hold stuff,  which  is  very  little  worth,  though  it  might  well  abide  the 
sale,  yet  being  suddenly  thrust  out,  they  be  constrained  to  sell  it 
for  a  thing  of  nought.  And  when  they  have  wandered  abroad,  till 
that  be  spent,  what  can  they  then  else  do  but  steal,  and  then  justly 
pardy  be  hanged,  or  else  go  about  a  begging.  And  yet  then  also 
they  be  cast  in  prison  as  vagabonds,  because  they  go  about  and 
work  not  :  whom  no  man  will  set  a  work,  though  they  never  so 
willingly  proffer  themselves  thereto.  For  one  Shepherd  or  Herd- 
man  is  enough  to  eat  up  that  ground  with  cattle  to  the  occupying 
whereof  about  husbandry  many  hands  were  requisite.  And  this  is 
also  the  cause  why  victuals  be  now  in  many  places  dearer.  Yea, 
besides  this  the  price  of  wool  is  so  risen,  that  poor  folks,  which 
were  wont  to  work  it,  and  make  cloth  thereof,  be  now  able  to  buy 
none  at  all.  And  by  this  means  very  many  be  forced  to  forsake 
work,  and  to  give  themselves  to  idleness.  For  after  that  so  much 
ground  was  inclosed  for  pasture,  an  infinite  multitude  of  sheep  died 
of  the  rot,  such  vengeance  God  took  of  their  inordinate  and  un- 
satiable  covetousness,  sending  among  the  sheep  that  pestiferous 
murrain,  which  much  more  justly  should  have  fallen  on  the  sheep- 
masters'  own  heads.  And  though  the  number  of  sheep  increase 
never  so  fast,  yet  the  price  falleth  not  one  mite,  because  there  be 
so  few  sellers.  For  they  be  almost  all  comen  into  a  few  rich  men's 
hands,  whom  no  need  forceth  to  sell  before  they  lust,  and  they 
lust  not  before  they  may  sell  as  dear  as  they  lust.  Now  the  same 
cause  bringeth  in  like  dearth  of  the  other  kinds  of  cattle,  yea  and 
that  so  much  the  more,  because  that  after  farms  plucked  down, 
and  husbandry  decayed,  there  is  no  man  that  passeth  for  the 
breeding  of  young  store.  For  these  rich  men  bring  not  up  the 
young  ones  of  great  cattle  as  they  do  lambs.  But  first  they  buy 
them  abroad  very  cheap,  and  afterwards  when  they  be  fatted  in 
their  pastures,  they  sell  them  again  exceeding  dear.  And  there- 
fore (as  I  suppose)  the  whole  incommodity  hereof  is  not  yet  felt. 
For  yet  they  make  dearth  only  in  those  places,  where  they  sell. 
But  when  they  shall  fetch  them  away  from  thence  where  they  be 
bred  faster  than  they  can  be  brought  up,  then  shall  there  also  be 
felt  great  dearth,  store  beginning  there  to  fail,  where  the  ware  is 
bought.  Thus  the  unreasonable  covetousness  of  a  few  hath  turned 
that  thing  to  the  utter  undoing  of  your  island,  in  the  which  thing 
the  chief  felicity  of  your  realm  did  consist.  For  this  great  dearth 
of  victuals  causeth  men  to  keep  as  little  houses,  and  as  small 


i64  ENGLISH  PROSE 


hospitality  as  they  possibly  may,  and  to  put  away  their  servants, 
whither,  I  pray  you,  but  a  begging,  or  else  (which  these  gentle 
bloods,  and  stout  stomacks,  will  sooner  set  their  minds  unto)  a 
stealing  ?  Now,  to  amend  the  matter,  to  this  wretched  beggary 
and  miserable  poverty  is  joined  great  wantonness,  importun- 
ate superfluity,  and  excessive  riot.  For  not  only  gentlemen's 
servants,  but  also  handicraft  men,  yea  and  almost  the  plough- 
men of  the  country,  with  all  other  sorts  of  people,  use  much 
strange  and  proud  newfangleness  in  their  apparel,  and  too  much 
prodigal  riot,  and  sumptuous  fare  at  their  table.  Now  harlots, 
stews,  and  winetaverns,  ale  houses,  and  tippling  houses,  with 
so  many  naughty,  lewd,  and  unlawful  games,  as  dice,  cards, 
tables,  tennis,  bowls,  quoits,  do  not  all  these  send  the  haunters  of 
them  straight  a  stealing  when  their  money  is  gone  ?  Cast  out 
these  pernicious  abominations,  make  a  law,  that  they,  which 
plucked  down  farms,  and  towns  of  husbandry,  shall  reedify  them, 
or  else  yield  and  uprender  the  possession  thereof  to  such  as  will 
go  to  the  cost  of  building  them  anew.  Suffer  not  these  rich  men  to 
buy  up  all,  to  ingross,  and  forestall,  and  with  their  monopoly  to  keep 
the  market  alone  as  please  them.  Let  not  so  many  be  brought  up 
in  idleness,  let  husbandry  and  tillage  be  restored,  let  cloth-working 
be  renewed,  that  there  may  be  honest  labours  for  this  idle  sort  to 
pass  their  time  in  profitably,  which  hitherto  either  poverty  hath 
caused  to  be  thieves,  or  else  now  be  either  vagabonds,  or  idle 
serving-men,  and  shortly  will  be  thieves.  Doubtless  unless  you 
find  a  remedy  for  these  enormities,  you  shall  in  vain  advance  your- 
selves of  executing  justice  upon  felons.  {Utopia.,  Bk.  L) 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  UTOPIANS 

These  and  such  like  opinions  have  they  conceived,  partly  by 
education,  being  brought  up  in  that  commonwealth,  whose  laws 
and  customs  be  far  different  from  these  kinds  of  folly,  and  partly 
by  good  literature  and  learning;  For  though  there  be  not 
many  in  every  city,  which  be  exempt  and  discharged  of  all  other 
labours,  and  appointed  only  to  learning,  that  is  to  say  such  in 
whom  even  from  their  very  childhood  they  have  perceived  a 
singular  towardness,  a  fine  wit,  and  a  mind  apt  to  good  learning, 
yet  all   in  their  childhood  be  instructed   in  learning.     And  the 


S/R  THOMAS  MORE  165 

better  part  of  the  people,  both  men  and  women  throughout 
all  their  whole  life  do  bestow  in  learning  those  spare  hours, 
which  we  said  they  have  vacant  from  bodily  labours.  They  be 
taught  learning  in  their  own  native  tongue.  For  it  is  both 
copious  in  words,  and  also  pleasant  to  the  ear,  and  for  the 
utterance  of  a  man's  mind  very  perfect  and  sure.  The  most 
part  of  all  that  side  of  the  world  useth  the  same  language,  saving 
that  among  the  Utopians  it  is  finest  and  purest,  and  according 
to  the  diversity  of  the  countries  it  is  diversly  altered.  Of  all 
these  Philosophers,  whose  names  be  here  famous  in  this  part  of 
the  world  to  us  known,  before  our  coming  thither  not  as  much 
as  the  fame  of  any  of  them  was  comen  among  them.  And  yet  in 
Music,  Logic,  Arithmetic,  and  Geometry  they  have  found  out  in 
a  manner  all  that  our  ancient  Philosophers  have  taught.  But  as 
they  in  all  things  be  almost  equal  to  our  old  ancient  clerks,  so 
our  new  Logicians  in  subtle  inventions  have  far  passed  and  gone 
beyond  them.  For  they  have  not  devised  one  of  all  those  rules 
of  restrictions,  amplifications,  and  suppositions,  very  wittily  invented 
in  the  small  Logicals,  which  here  our  children  in  every  place 
do  learn.  Furthermore  they  were  never  yet  able  to  find  out  the 
second  intentions  :  insomuch  that  none  of  them  all  could  ever 
see  man  himself  in  common,  as  they  call  him,  though  he  be  (as 
you  know)  bigger  than  ever  was  any  giant,  yea  and  pointed  to 
of  us  even  with  our  finger.  But  they  be  in  the  course  of  the  stars, 
and  the  movings  of  the  heavenly  spheres  very  expert  and  cunning. 
They  have  also  wittily  excogitated  and  devised  instruments  of 
divers  fashions  :  wherein  is  exactly  comprehended  and  contained 
the  movings  and  situations  of  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  of  all  the 
other  stars,  which  appear  in  their  horizon.  But  as  for  the 
amities  and  dissensions  of  the  planets,  and  all  that  deceitful 
divination  by  the  stars,  they  never  as  much  as  dreamed  thereof. 
Rains,  winds,  and  other  courses  of  tempests  they  know  before 
by  certain  tokens,  which  they  have  learned  by  long  use  and 
observation.  But  of  the  causes  of  all  these  things  and  of  the 
ebbing,  flowing,  and  saltness  of  the  sea,  and  finally  of  the 
original  beginning  and  nature  of  heaven  and  of  the  world,  they 
hold  partly  the  same  opinions  that  our  old  Philosophers  hold, 
and  partly,  as  our  Philosophers  vary  among  themselves,  so  they 
also,  whiles  they  bring  new  reasons  of  things,  do  disagree  from  all 
them,  and  yet  among  themselves  in  all  points  they  do  not  accord. 
In  that  part  of  Philosophy,  which  entreateth  of  manners  and  virtue, 


I  -56  ENGF. ISH  PR OSE 


tlieir  reasons  and  opinions  agree  with  ours.  They  dispute  of 
the  good  quahties  of  the  soul,  of  the  body,  and  of  fortune.  And 
whether  the  name  of  goodness  may  be  appHed  to  all  these,  or 
only  to  the  endowments  and  gifts  of  the  soul. 

They  reason  of  virtue  and  pleasure.  But  the  chief  and 
principal  question  is  in  what  thing,  be  it  one  or  more,  the  felicity 
of  man  consisteth.  But  in  this  point  they  seem  almost  too  much 
given  and  inclined  to  the  opinion  of  them,  which  defend  pleasure, 
wherein  they  determine  either  all  or  the  chiefest  part  of  man's 
felicity  to  rest.  And  (which  is  more  to  be  marvelled  at)  the 
defence  of  this  so  dainty  and  delicate  an  opinion,  they  fetch 
even  from  their  grave,  sharp,  bitter,  and  rigorous  religion.  For 
they  never  dispute  of  felicity  or  blessedness,  but  they  join  unto 
the  reasons  of  Philosophy  certain  principles  taken  out  of  religion  : 
without  the  which  to  the  investigation  of  true  felicity  they  think 
reason  of  itself  weak  and  imperfect.  Those  principles  be  these 
and  such  like.  That  the  soul  is  immortal,  and  by  the  bountiful 
goodness  of  God  ordained  to  felicity.  That  to  our  virtues  and 
good  deeds  rewards  be  appointed  after  this  life,  and  to  our  evil 
deeds  punishments.  Though  these  be  pertaining  to  religion 
yet  they  think  it  meet  that  they  should  be  believed  and  granted 
by  proofs  of  reason.  But  if  these  principles  were  condemned 
and  disannulled,  then  without  any  delay  they  pronounce  no  man 
to  be  so  foolish,  which  would  not  do  all  his  dili;jence  and 
endeavour  to  obtain  pleasure  by  right  or  wrong,  only  avoiding 
this  inconvenience,  that  the  less  pleasure  should  not  be  a  let  or 
hinderance  to  the  bigger,  or  that  he  laboured  not  for  that 
pleasure,  which  would  bring  after  it  displeasure,  grief,  and  sorrow. 
For  they  judge  it  extreme  madness  to  follow  sharp  and  painful 
virtue,  and  not  only  to  banish  the  pleasure  of  life,  but  also 
willingly  to  suffer  grief,  without  any  hope  of  profit  thereof  ensuing. 
For  what  profit  can  there  be,  if  a  man,  when  he  hath  passed  over 
all  his  life  unpleasantly,  that  is  to  say,  miserably,  shall  have  no 
reward  after  his  death  .''  But  now,  sir,  they  think  not  felicity  to 
rest  in  all  pleasure,  but  only  in  that  pleasure  that  is  good  and 
honest,  and  that  hereto,  as  to  perfect  blessedness,  our  nature  is 
allured  and  drawn  even  of  virtue,  whereto  only  they  that  be  of 
the  contrary  opinion  do  attribute  felicity.  For  they  define  virtue 
to  be  life  ordered  according  to  nature,  and  that  we  be  hereunto 
ordained  of  God.  And  that  he  doth  follow  the  course  of  nature, 
which  in  desiring  and  refusing  things  is  ruled  by  reason.      Further- 


S//?  THOMAS  MORE  167 

more  that  reason  doth  chiefly  and  principally  kindle  in  men  the 
love  and  veneration  of  the  divine  majesty.  Of  whose  goodness 
it  is  that  we  be,  and  that  we  be  in  possibility  to  attain  felicity. 
And  that  secondarily  it  both  stirreth  and  provoketh  us  to  lead 
our  life  out  of  care  in  joy  and  mirth,  and  also  moveth  us  to  help 
and  further  all  other  in  respect  of  the  society  of  nature  to  obtain 
and  enjoy  the  same.  For  there  was  never  man  so  earnest  and 
painful  a  follower  of  virtue  and  hater  of  pleasure,  that  would 
so  enjoin  you  labours,  watchings,  and  fastings,  but  he  would 
also  exhort  you  to  ease,  lighten,  and  relieve  to  your  power  the 
lack  and  misery  of  others,  praising  the  same  as  a  deed  of  humaaity 
and  pity.  Then  if  it  be  a  point  of  humanity  for  man  to  bring 
health  and  comfort  to  man,  and  specially  (which  is  a  virtue  most 
peculiarly  belonging  to  man)  to  mitigate  and  assuage  the  grief 
of  others,  and  by  taking  from  them  the  sorrow  and  heaviness  of 
life,  to  restore  them  to  joy,  that  is  to  say  to  pleasure,  why  may 
it  not  then  be  said,  that  nature  doth  provoke  every  man  to  do 
the  same  to  himself?  For  a  joyful  life,  that  is  to  say,  a  pleasant 
life  is  either  evil,  and  if  it  be  so,  then  thou  shouldest  not  only 
help  no  man  thereto,  but  rather,  as  much  as  in  thee  lieth,  with- 
draw all  men  from  it,  as  noisome  and  hurtful,  or  else  if  thou 
not  only  mayst,  but  also  of  duty  art  bound  to  procure  it  to 
others,  why  not  chiefly  to  thee  self?  To  whom  thou  art  bound 
to  show  as  much  favour  and  gentleness  as  to  others.  For  when 
nature  biddeth  thee  to  be  good  and  gentle  to  other,  she  com- 
mandeth  thee  not  to  be  cruel  and  ungentle  to  thee  self.  Therefore 
even  very  nature  (say  they)  prescribeth  to  us  a  joyful  life,  that  is 
to  say,  pleasure  as  the  end  of  all  our  operations. 

{Utopia,  Bk.  II.  §  5.) 


KING  RICHARD  THE  THIRD   IN   COUNCIL. 
Whereupon  soon  after,  that  is  to  wit,  on  the  Friday  the 


day  of ,  many  Lords  assembled  in  the  Tower,  and  there  sat  in 

council,  devising  the  honorable  solemnity  of  the  king's  coronation, 
of  which  the  time  appointed  then  so  near  approached,  that  the 
pageants  and  subtleties  were  in  making  d^y  and  night  at  West- 
minster, and  much  vitaillc  killed  therefore,  that  afterwards  was  cast 
away.      These  lords  so  sitting  together  communing  of  this  matter, 


1 68  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  protector  came  in  among  them,  first  about  nine  of  the  clock, 
saluting  them  courteously,  and  excusing  himself  that  he  had  been 
from  them  so  long,  saying  merely  that  he  had  been  asleep  that 
day.  And  after  a  little  talking  with  them,  he  said  unto  the  Bishop 
of  Ely  :  My  lord  you  have  very  good  strawberries  at  your  garden 
in  Holborn,  I  require  you  let  us  have  a  mess  of  them.  Gladly  my 
lord,  quoth  he,  would  God  I  had  some  better  thing  as  ready  to 
your  pleasure  as  that.  And  therewith  in  all  the  haste  he  sent  his 
servant  for  a  mess  of  strawberries.  The  protector  set  the  lords 
fast  in  communing,  and  thereupon  praying  them  to  spare  him  for 
a  little  while  departed  thence.  And  soon,  after  one  hour,  between 
ten  and  eleven  he  returned  into  the  chamber  among  them,  all 
changed,  with  a  wonderful  sour  angry  countenance,  knitting  the 
brows,  frowning  and  /rating  and  gnawing  on  his  lips,  and  so  sat 
him  down  in  his  place  ;  all  the  lords  much  dismayed  and  sore 
marvelling  of  this  manner  of  sudden  change,  and  what  thing  should 
him  ail.  Then  when  he  had  sitten  still  a  while,  thus  he  began  : 
What  were  they  worthy  to  have,  that  compass  and  imagine  the 
destruction  of  me,  being  so  near  of  blood  unto  the  king  and 
protector  of  his  royal  person  and  his  realm  ?  At  this  question,  all 
the  lords  sat  sore  astonied,  musing  much  by  whom  this  question 
should  be  meant,  of  which  every  man  wist  himself  clear.  Then 
the  lord  chamberlain,  as  he  that  for  the  love  between  them  thought 
he  might  be  boldest  with  him,  answered  and  said,  that  they  were 
worthy  to  be  punished  as  heinous  traitors,  whatsoever  they  were. 
And  all  the  other  affirmed  the  same.  That  is  (quoth  he)  yonder 
sorceress  my  brother's  wife  and  other  with  her,  meaning  the 
queen.  At  these  words  many  of  the  other  Lords  were  greatly 
abashed  that  favoured  her.  But  the  lord  Hastings  was  in  his 
mind  better  content,  that  it  was  moved  by  her,  than  by  any  other 
whom  he  loved  better.  Albeit  his  heart  somewhat  grudged,  that 
he  was  not  afore  made  of  counsel  in  this  matter,  as  he  was  of  the 
taking  of  her  kindred,  and  of  their  putting  to  death,  which  were 
by  his  assent  before  devised  to  be  beheaded  at  Pomfret  this  self 
same  day,  in  which  he  was  not  ware  that  it  was  by  other  devised, 
that  himself  should  the  same  day  be  beheaded  at  London.  Then 
said  the  protector  ;  ye  shall  all  see  in  wliat  wise  that  sorceress  and 
that  other  witch  of  her  counsel.  Shore's  wife,  with  their  affinity, 
have  by  their  sorcery  and  witchcraft  wasted  my  body.  And  there- 
with he  plucked  up  his  doublet  sleeve  to  his  elbow  upon  his  left 
arm,  where  he  showed  a  werish  withered  arm  and  small,  as  it  was 


S//i!   THOMAS  MORE  169 

never  other.  And  thereupon  every  man's  mind  sore  misgave 
them,  well  perceiving  that  this  matter  was  but  a  quarrel.  Yox 
well  they  wist,  that  the  queen  was  too  wise  to  go  about  any  such 
folly.  And  also,  if  she  would,  yet  would  she  of  all  folk  least  make 
Shore's  wife  of  counsel,  whom  of  all  women  she  most  hated,  as 
that  concubine  whom  the  king  her  husband  had  most  loved.  And 
also  no  man  was  there  present,  but  well  knew  that  his  harm  was 
ever  such  since  his  birth.  Natheless  the  lord  Chamberlain 
answered  and  said  :  certainly,  my  lord,  if  they  have  so  heinously 
done,  they  be  worthy  heinous  punishment.  What,  quoth  the 
protector,  thou  servest  me,  I  ween,  with  ifs  and  with  ans,  I  tell 
thee  they  have  so  done,  and  that  I  will  make  good  on  thy  body, 
traitor.  And  therewith,  as  in  a  great  anger,  he  clapped  his  fist 
upon  the  board  a  great  rap.  At  which  token  given,  one  cried 
treason  without  the  chamber.  Therewith  a  door  clapped,  and  in 
come  there  rushing  men  in  harness  as  many  as  the  chamber  might 
hold.  And  anon  the  protector  said  to  the  Lord  Hastings  :  I  arrest 
thee,  traitor.  What,  me,  my  Lord  ?  quoth  he.  Yea  thee,  traitor, 
quoth  the  protector.  And  another  let  fly  at  the  Lord  Stanley 
which  shrunk  at  the  stroke  and  fell  under  the  table,  or  else  his 
head  had  been  cleft  to  the  teeth  :  for  as  shortly  as  he  shrank,  yet 
ran  the  blood  about  his  ears.  Then  were  they  all  quickly  bestowed 
in  diverse  chambers,  except  the  lord  Chamberlain,  whom  the 
protector  bade  speed  and  shrive  him  apace,  for  by  saint  Paul 
(quoth  he)  I  will  not  to  dinner  till  I  see  thy  head  off.  It  booted 
him  not  to  ask  why,  but  heavily  he  took  a  priest  at  adventure,  and 
made  a  short  shrift,  for  a  longer  would  not  be  suffered,  the 
protector  made  so  much  haste  to  dinner  ;  which  he  might  not  go 
to  till  this  were  done  for  saving  of  his  oath.  So  was  he  brought 
forth  into  the  green  beside  the  chapel  within  the  Tower,  and  his 
head  laid  down  upon  a  long  log  of  timber,  and  there  stricken  off, 
and  afterwards  his  body  with  the  head  interred  at  Windsor  beside 
the  body  of  king  Edward,  whose  both  souls  our  Lord  pardon. 

A  marvellous  case  is  it  to  hear,  either  the  warnings  of  that  he 
should  have  voided,  or  the  tokens  of  that  he  could  not  void. 
For  the  self  night  next  before  his  death,  the  lord  Stanley  sent  a 
trusty  secret  messenger  unto  him  at  midnight  in  all  the  haste,  re- 
quiring him  to  rise  and  ride  away  with  him,  for  he  was  disposed 
utterly  no  longer  to  bide  ;  he  had  so  fearful  a  dream,  in  which 
him  thought  that  a  boar  with  his  tusks  so  raced  them  both  by  the 
heads,  that  the  blood  ran  about  both  their  shoulders.      And  foras- 


I70  ENGLISH  PROSE 


much  as  the  protector  gave  the  boar  for  his  cognizance,  this  dream 
made  so  fearful  an  impression  in  his  heart,  that  he  was  thoroughly 
determined  no  longer  to  tarry,  but  had  his  horse  ready,  if  the  lord 
Hastings  would  go  with  him  to  ride  so  far  yet  the  same  night,  that 
they  should  be  out  of  danger  ere  day.  Ay,  good  lord,  quoth  the 
lord  Hastings  to  this  messenger,  leaneth  my  lord  thy  master  so 
much  to  such  trifles,  and  hath  such  faith  in  dreams,  which  either 
his  own  fear  fantasieth  or  do  rise  in  the  night's  rest  by  reason  of 
his  day  thoughts  ?  Tell  him  it  is  plain  witchcraft  to  believe  in 
such  dreams  ;  which  if  they  were  tokens  of  things  to  come,  why 
thinketh  he  not  that  we  might  be  as  likely  to  make  them  true  by 
our  going  if  we  were  caught  and  brought  back  (as  friends  fail 
fleers),  for  then  had  the  boar  a  cause  likely  to  race  us  with  his 
tusks,  as  folk  that  fled  for  some  falsehood,  wherefore  either  is 
there  no  peril  (nor  none  there  is  indeed),  or  if  any  be,  it  is  rather 
in  going  than  biding.  And  if  we  should,  needs  cost,  fall  in  peril 
one  way  or  other,  yet  had  I  liever  that  men  should  see  it  were  by 
other  men's  falsehood,  than  think  it  were  either  our  own  fault  or 
faint  heart.  And  therefore  go  to  thy  master,  man,  and  commend 
me  to  him,  and  pray  him  be  merry  and  have  no  fear  :  for  I  ensure 
him  I  am  as  sure  of  the  man  that  he  wotteth  of,  as  I  am  of  my 
own  hand.  God  send  grace,  sir,  quoth  the  messenger,  and  went 
his  way. 

Certain  is  it  also,  that  in  the  riding  toward  the  Tower,  the  same 
morning  in  which  he  was  beheaded,  his  horse  twice  or  thrice 
stumbled  with  him  almost  to  the  falling  ;  which  thing  albeit  each 
man  wot  well  daily  happeneth  to  them  to  whom  no  such  mischance 
is  toward,  yet  hath  it  been,  of  an  old  rite  and  custom,  observed  as 
a  token  often  times  notably  foregoing  some  great  misfortune. 
Now  this  that  foUoweth  was  no  warning,  but  an  eneinious  scorn. 
The  same  morning  ere  he  were  up,  came  a  knight  unto  him,  as  it 
were  of  courtesy  to  accompany  him  to  the  council,  but  of  truth 
sent  by  the  protector  to  haste  him  thitherward,  with  whom  he  was 
of  secret  confederacy  in  that  purpose,  a  mean  man  at  that  time, 
and  now  of  great  authority.  This  knight  when  it  happed  the  lord 
Chamberlain  by  the  way  to  stay  his  horse,  and  commune  a  while 
with  a  priest  whom  he  met  in  the  Tower  street,  brake  his  tale  and 
said  merrily  to  him  :  What,  my  lord,  I  pray  you  come  on,  whereto 
talk  you  so  long  with  that  priest,  you  have  no  need  of  a  priest  yet  ; 
and  therewith  he  laughed  upon  him,  as  though  he  would  say,  ye 
shall  have  soon.      But  so  little  wist  that  other  what  he  meant,  and 


S//^  THOMAS  MORE  171 


so  little  mistrusted,  that  he  was  never  merrier  nor  never  so  full  of 
good  hope  in  his  life  ;  which  self  thing  is  often  seen  a  sign  of 
change.  But  I  shall  rather  let  any  thing  pass  me,  than  the  vain 
surety  of  man's  mind  so  near  his  death.  Upon  the  very  Tower 
wharf,  so  near  the  place  where  his  head  was  off  so  soon  after, 
there  met  he  with  one  Hastings,  a  pursuivant  of  his  own  name. 
And  of  their  meeting  in  that  place,  he  was  put  in  remembrance  of 
another  time,  in  which  it  had  happened  them  before  to  meet  in 
like  manner  together  in  the  same  place.  At  which  other  time  the 
lord  Chamberlain  had  been  accused  unto  king  Edward,  by  the  lord 
Rivers  the  queen's  brother,  in  such  wise  that  he  was  for  the  while 
(but  it  lasted  not  long)  far  fallen  into  the  king's  indignation,  and 
stood  in  great  fear  of  himself  And  forasmuch  as  he  now  met  this 
pursuivant  in  the  same  place,  that  jeopardy  so  well  passed,  it  gave 
him  great  pleasure  to  talk  with  him  thereof  with  whom  he  had 
before  talked  thereof  in  the  same  place  while  he  was  therein.  And 
therefore  he  said  :  Ah  Hastings,  art  thou  remembered  when  I  met 
thee  here  once  with  an  heavy  heart  ?  Yea,  my  lord  (quoth  he), 
that  rememier  I  well  :  and  thanked  be  God  they  gat  no  good,  nor 
ye  none  harm  thereby.  Thou  wouldest  say  so,  quoth  he,  if  thou 
knewest  as  much  as  I  know,  which  few  know  else  as  yet  and  more 
shall  shortly.  That  meant  he  by  the  lords  of  the , queen's  kindred 
that  were  taken  before,  and  should  that  day  be  beheaded  at 
Pomfret  :  which  he  well  wist,  but  nothing  ware  that  the  axe 
hung  over  his  own  head.  In  faith,  man,  quoth  he,  I  was  never  so 
sorry,  nor  never  stood  in  so  great  dread  in  my  life,  as  I  did  when 
thou  and  I  met  here.  And  lo,  how  the  world  is  turned,  now 
stand  mine  enemies  in  the  danger  (as  thou  mayst  hap  to  hear 
more  hereafter)  and  I  never  in  my  life  so  merry  nor  never  in  so 
great  surety.  O  good  God,  the  blindness  of  our  mortal  nature, 
when  he  most  feared,  he  was  in  good  surety,  when  he  reckoned 
himself  surest,  he  lost  his  life,  and  that  within  two  hours  after. 
Thus  ended  this  honorable  man,  a  good  knight  and  a  gentle,  of 
great  authority  with  his  prince,  of  living  somewhat  dissolute,  plain 
and  open  to  his  enemy,  and  secret  to  his  friend,  eath  to  beguile, 
as  he  that  of  good  heart  and  courage  forestudied  no  perils.  A 
loving  man  and  passing  well  beloved.  Very  faithful,  and  trusty 
enough,  trusting  too  much. 

(From  History  of  King  Richard  III.) 


172  ENGLISH  PROSE 


PLUNDER  OF  THE  CHURCH   BY  HERETICS 

But  now  to  the  poor  beggars.  What  remedy  findeth  their 
proctor  for  them  ?  to  make  hospitals  ?  Nay  ware  of  it,  thereof 
he  will  none  in  no  wise.  For  thereof  he  sayeth  the  more  the 
worse,  because  they  be  profitable  to  priests.  What  remedy  then  .'' 
Give  them  any  money  ?  Nay,  nay,  not  a  groat.  What  other 
thing  then  .-'  Nothing  in  the  world  will  serve  but  this,  that  if 
the  king's  grace  will  build  a  sure  hospital,  it  never  shall  fail  to 
relieve  all  the  sick  beggars  for  ever.  Let  him  give  nothing  to 
them,  but  look  what  the  clergy  hath,  and  take  all  that  from  them. 
Is  not  here  a  goodly  mischief  for  a  remedy  ?  Is  not  this  a 
royal  feat,  to  leave  these  beggars  meatless,  and  then  send  more 
to  dinner  to  them  ?  Oh  the  wise  !  Here  want  we  voice  and 
eloquence  to  set  out  an  exclamation  in  the  praise  and  commenda- 
tion of  this  special  high  provision.  This  bill  putteth  he  forth 
in  the  poor  beggars'  name.  But  we  verily  think  if  themselves 
have  as  much  wit  as  their  proctor  lacketh,  they  had  liever  see 
their  bill-maker  burned,  than  their  supplication  sped. 

For  they  may  soon  perceive  that  he  mindeth  not  their  almoise, 
but  only  the  spoil  of  the  clergy.  For  so  that  the  clergy  lose  it, 
he  neither  deviseth  further,  nor  further  forceth  who  have  it.  But 
it  is  easy  to  see,  whereof  springeth  all  his  displeasure.  He  is 
angry  and  fretteth  at  the  spiritual  jurisdiction  for  the  punishment 
of  heretics  and  burning  of  their  erroneous  books  :  for  ever  upon 
that  string  he  harpeth  :  very  angry  with  the  burning  of  Tyndale's 
testament.  For  these  matters  he  calleth  them  blood  suppers, 
drunken  in  the  blood  of  holy  saints  and  martyrs.  Ye  marvel 
peradventure  which  holy  saints  and  martyrs  he  meaneth.  Surely 
by  his  holy  saints  and  martyrs  he  meaneth  their  holy  schismatics 
and  heretics,  for  whose  just  punishment  these  folk  that  are  of  the 
same  sect,  fume,  fret,  frote  and  foam,  as  fierce  and  as  angerly  as  a 
new  hunted  sow.  And  for  the  rancour  conceived  upon  this  dis- 
pleasure, Cometh  up  all  his  complaint  of  the  possessions  of  the 
clergy.  Wherein  he  spareth  and  forbeareth  the  nuns  yet,  because 
they  have  no  jurisdiction  upon  heretics  ;  for  else  he  would  have 
cried  out  upon  their  possessions  too.  But  this  is  now  no  new  thing, 
nor  the  first  time  that  heretics  have  been  in  hand  with  the  matter. 
For  first  was  there  in  the  eleventh  year  of  King  Henry  IV.,  one 
John  Badby  burned   for   heresy.     And   forthwith  thereupon  was 


S/A'   THOMAS  MORE  173 

there  at  the  next  parhament  holden  the  same  year,  a  bill  put  in, 
declaring  how  much  temporal  land  was  in  the  church,  which 
reckoning  the  maker  thereof  guessed  at  by  the  number  of 
knight's  fees  of  which  he  had  weened  he  had  made  a  very  just 
account.  And  in  this  bill  was  it  devised  to  take  their  possessions 
out  again.  Howbeit  by  the  bill  it  appeared  well  unto  them 
which  well  understood  the  matter,  that  the  maker  of  the  bill 
neither  wist  what  land  there  was,  nor  how  many  knight's  fees 
there  was  in  the  church,  nor  well  what  thing  a  knight's  fee  is  : 
but  the  bill  devised  of  rancour  and  evil  will  by  some  such  as 
favoured  Badby  that  was  burned,  and  would  have  his  heresies  fain 
go  forward.  And  so  the  bill  such  as  it  was,  such  was  it  esteemed 
and  set  aside  for  naught.  So  happed  it  then  soon  after  that  in 
the  first  year  of  the  king's  most  noble  progenitor  King  Henry  V. 
those  heresies  secretly  creeping  on  still  among  the  people  ;  a  great 
number  of  them  had  first  covertly  conspired  and  after  openly 
gathered  and  assembled  themselves,  purposing  by  open  war 
and  battle  to  destroy  the  king  and  his  nobles  and  subvert  the 
realm.  Whose  traitorous  malice  that  good  Catholic  king  pre- 
vented, withstood,  overthrew,  and  punished  ;  by  many  of  them 
taken  in  the  field,  and  after  for  their  traitorous  heresies  both 
hanged  and  burned.  Whereupon,  forthwith  at  the  parliament 
holden  the  same  year,  likewise  as  that  royal  prince,  his  virtuous 
nobles,  and  his  good  christian  commons,  devised  good  laws 
against  heretics  :  so  did  some  of  such  as  favoured  them,  eftsoons 
put  in  the  bill  against  the  spirituality.  Which,  eftsoons  considered 
for  such  as  it  was,  and  coming  of  such  malicious  purpose  as  it 
came,  was  again  rejected  and  set  aside  for  nought.  Then  was 
there  long  after  that,  one  Richard  Houndon  burned  for  heresy. 
And  then  forthwith  were  there  a  rabble  of  heretics  gathered 
themselves  together  at  Abingdon  :  which  not  intended  to  lose 
any  more  labour  by  putting  up  of  bills  in  the  parliaments,  but 
to  make  an  open  insurrection  and  subvert  all  the  realm,  and  then 
to  kill  up  the  clergy  and  sell  priests'  heads  as  good  cheap  as 
sheep's  heads,  three  for  a  penny,  buy  who  would.  But  God 
saved  the  church  and  the  realm  both,  and  turned  their  malice 
upon  their  own  heads.  And  yet  after  their  punishment  then 
were  there  some  that  renewed  the  brll  again.  And  yet  long 
after  this,  was  there  one  John  Goose  roasted  at  the  Tower  Hill. 
And  thereupon  forthwith  some  other  John  Goose  began  to  bear 
that  bill  abroad  again  and  made   some  gaggling  awhile,   but  it 


1 74  ENGUSH  PR  OSE 


availed  him  not.  And  now  because  some  heretics  have  been 
of  late  abjured,  this  gosling  therefore  hath  made  this  beggars' 
bill,  and  gaggleth  again  upon  the  same  matter,  and  yet  as  he 
thinketh  by  another  invention  likely  to  speed  now,  because  he 
maketh  his  bill  in  the  name  of  the  beggars,  and  his  bill  couched 
as  full  of  lies  as  any  beggar  swarmeth  full  of  lice.  We  neither 
will  nor  shall  need  to  make  much  business  about  this  matter. 
We  trust  much  better  in  the  goodness  of  good  men,  than  that 
we  should  need  for  this  thing  to  reason  against  an  unreasonable 
body.  We-  be  sure  enough  that  good  men  were  they  that  gave 
this  gear  into  the  church,  and  therefore  nought  should  they  be 
of  likelihood  that  would  pull  it  out  thence  again.  To  which 
ruin   and  sacrilege   Our   Lord,  we   trust,   shall   never   suffer  this 

(From  the  Supplication  of  Souls. ^ 


THE  APOLOGY  OF   SIR  THOMAS   MORE 

But  I  suppose  in  good  faith  that  this  pacifier  hath  of  some 
facility  of  his  own  good  nature,  been  easy  to  believe  some  such 
as  have  told  him  lies,  and  hath  been  thereby  persuaded  to  think 
that  many  other  folk  said  and  knew  the  thing  that  some  few  told 
him  for  very  truth.  And  surely  they  that  are  of  this  new  brother- 
hood be  so  bold  and  so  shameless  in  lying,  that  whoso  shall  hear 
them  speak,  and  knovveth  not  what  sect  they  are  of,  shall  be  very 
sore  abused  by  them. 

Myself  have  good  experience  of  them.  For  the  lies  are 
neither  few  nor  small,  that  many  of  the  blessed  brethren  have 
made,  and  daily  yet  make  by  me. 

Divers  of  them  have  said  that  of  such  as  were  in  my  house 
while  I  was  chancellor,  I  used  to  examine  them  with  torments, 
causing  them  to  be  bounden  to  a  tree  in  my  garden,  and  there 
plteously  beaten. 

And  this  tale  had  some  of  those  good  brethren  so  caused  to 
be  blown  about,  that  a  right  worshipful  friend  of  mine  did  of  late, 
within  less  than  this  fortnight,  tell  unto  another  near  friend  of 
mine  that  he  had  of  late  heard  much  speaking  thereof. 

What  cannot  these  brethren  say,  that  can  be  so  shameless  to 
say  thus  ?  For  of  very  truth,  albeit  that  for  a  great  robbery,  or 
an  heinous  murder,  or  sacrilege  in  a  church,  with  carrying  away 


SJ/i  THOMAS  MORE  175 

the  pyx  with  the  blessed  sacrament,  or  villainously  casting  it  out, 
I  caused  sometimes  such  things  to  be  done  by  some  officers  of 
the  Marshalsea,  or  of  some  other  prisons,  with  which  ordering  of 
them  by  their  well-deserved  pain,  and  without  any  great  hurt  that 
afterward  should  stick  by  them,  I  found  out  and  repressed  many 
such  desperate  wretches  as  else  had  not  failed  to  have  gone 
farther  abroad,  and  to  have  done  to  many  good  folk  a  great  deal 
much  more  harm  ;  yet  though  I  so  did  in  thieves,  murderers, 
and  robbers  of  churches,  and  notwithstanding  also  that  heretics 
be  yet  much  worse  than  all  they,  yet  saving  only  their  sure 
keeping,  I  never  did  else  cause  any  such  thing  to  be  done  to  any 
of  them  all  in  all  my  life,  except  only  twain,  of  which  the  one 
was  a  child  and  a  servant  of  mine,  in  mine  own  house,  whom  his 
father  had,  ere  ever  he  came  with  me,  nousled  up  in  such  matters, 
and  had  set  him  to  attend  upon  George  Jaye  or  Gee,  otherwise 
called  Gierke,  which  is  a  priest,  and  is  now  for  all  that  wedded 
in  Antwerp,  into  whose  house  there  the  two  nuns  were  brought, 
which  John  Birt,  otherwise  called  Adrian,  stole  out  of  their 
cloister  to  make  them  harlots. 

This  George  Jaye  did  teach  this  child  his  ungracious  heresy 
against  the  blessed  sacrament  of  the  altar,  which  heresy  this 
child  afterward,  being  in  service  with  me,  began  to  teach  another 
child  in  my  house,  which  uttered  his  counsel.  And  upon  that 
point  perceived  and  known,  I  caused  a  servant  of  mine  to  stripe 
him  like  a  child  before  mine  household,  for  amendment  of  himself 
and  ensample  of  such  other. 

Another  was  one  which,  after  that  he  had  fallen  into  that 
frantic  heresy,  fell  soon  after  into  plain  open  frenzy  beside.  And 
albeit  that  he  had  therefore  been  put  up  in  Bedlam,  and  afterward 
by  beating  and  correction  gathered  his  remembrance  to  him,  and 
began  to  come  again  to  himself,  being  thereupon  set  at  liberty, 
and  walking  about  abroad,  his  old  fancies  began  to  fall  again  in 
his  head.  And  I  was  from  divers  good  holy  places  advertised, 
that  he  used  in  his  wandering  about  to  come  into  the  church, 
and  there  make  many  mad  toys  and  trifles,  to  the  trouble  of  good 
people  in  the  divine  service,  and  specially  would  he  be  most  busy 
in  the  time  of  most  silence,  while  the  priest  was  at  the  secrets  of 
the  mass  about  the  elevation.  Whereupon  I,  being  advertised  of 
these  pageants,  and  being  sent  unto  and  required  by  very  devout 
religious  folk,  to  take  some  other  order  with  him,  caused  him  as 
he  came  wandering  by  my  door,  to  be  taken  by  the  constables. 


176  EAFGLISH  PROSE 


and  bounden  to  a  tree  in  the  street  before  the  whole  town,  and 
there  they  striped  him  with  rods  therefor  till  he  waxed  weary, 
and  somewhat  longer.  And  it  appeared  well  that  his  remembrance 
was  good  enough,  save  that  it  went  about  in  grazing  till  it  was 
beaten  home.  For  he  could  then  very  well  rehearse  his  faults 
himself,  and  promise  to  do  afterward  as  well.  And  verily,  God 
be  thanked,  I  hear  none  harm  of  him  now. 

And  of  all  that  ever  came  in  my  hand  for  heresy,  as  help  me 
God,  saving  as  I  said  the  sure  keeping  of  them,  and  yet  not  so 
sure  neither,  but  that  George  Constantine  could  steal  away :  else 
had  never  any  of  them  any  stripe  or  stroke  given  them,  so  much 
as  a  fillip  on  the  forehead. 

And  some  have  said  that  when  Constantine  was  gotten  away, 
I  was  fallen  for  anger  in  a  wonderful  rage.  But  surely,  though  I 
would  not  have  suffered  him  go,  if  it  would  have  pleased  him  to 
have  tarried  still  in  the  stocks,  yet  when  he  was  neither  so  feeble 
for  lack  of  meat  but  that  he  was  strong  enough  to  break  the 
stocks,  nor  waxen  so  lame  of  his  legs  with  lying  but  that  he  was 
light  enough  to  leap  the  walls,  nor  by  any  mishandling  of  his 
head  so  dulled  or  dazed  in  his  brain  but  that  he  had  wit  enough, 
when  he  was  once  out,  wisely  to  walk  his  way,  neither  was  I 
then  so  heavy  for  the  loss  but  that  I  had  youth  enough  left  me  to 
wear  it  out,  nor  so  angry  with  any  man  of  mine  that  I  spake  them 
any  evil  word  for  the  matter  more  than  to  my  porter  that  he 
should  see  the  stocks  mended  and  locked  fast,  that  the  prisoner 
stole  not  in  again.  And  as  for  Constantine  himself,  I  could  him, 
in  good  faith,  good  thank.  For  never  will  I  for  my  part  be  so 
unreasonable  as  to  be  angry  with  any  man  that  riseth  if  he  can, 
when  he  findeth  himself  that  he  sitteth  not  at  his  ease. 

But  now  tell  the  brethren  many  marvellous  lies,  of  much  cruel 
tormenting  that  heretics  had  in  my  house,  so  farforth  that  one 
Segar,  a  bookseller  of  Cambridge,  which  was  in  mine  house 
about  four  or  six  days,  and  never  had  either  bodily  harm  done 
him  or  foul  word  spoken  him  while  he  was  in  mine  house,  hath 
reported  since,  as  I  hear  say  to  divers,  that  he  was  bound  to  a 
tree  in  my  garden,  and  thereto  piteously  beaten,  and  yet  beside 
that  bounden  about  the  head  with  a  cord  and  ivrungen,  that  he 
fell  down  dead  in  a  swoon. 

And  this  tale  of  his  beating  did  Tyndale  tell  to  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  his  own  and  to  a  good  lover  of  mine  with  one  piece 
farther  yet,  that  while  the  man  was  in  beating,  I   spied  a  little 


S//?  THOMAS  MOKE  177 

purse  of  his  hanging  at  his  doublet,  wherein  the  poor  man  had 
(as  he  said)  five  mark,  and  that  caught  I  quickly  to  me,  and 
pulled  it  from  his  doublet,  and  put  it  in  my  bosom,  and  that 
Segar  never  saw  it  after,  and  therein  I  trow  he  said  true,  for  no 
more  did  I  neither  nor  before  neither,  nor  I  trow  no  more  did 
Segar  himself  neither  in  good  faith. 

But  now  when  I  can  come  to  goods  by  such  goodly  ways,  it  is 
no  great  marvel  though  I  be  so  suddenly  grown  to  so  great 
substance  of  riches,  as  Tyndale  told  his  acquaintance  and  my 
friend,  to  whom  he  said  that  he  wist  well  that  I  was  no  less 
worth  in  money  and  plate  and  other  movables  than  twenty 
thousand  marks.  And  as  much  as  that  have  divers  of  the  good 
brethren  affirmed  here  near  home. 

And  surely  this  will  I  confess,  that  if  I  have  heaped  up  so 
much  good  together,  then  have  I  not  gotten  the  one  half  by  right. 
And  yet  by  all  the  thieves,  murderers,  and  heretics,  that  ever 
came  in  my  hands,  am  I  nof(I  thank  God)  the  richer  of  one 
groat,  and  yet  have  they  spent  me  twain.  Howbeit  if  either  any 
of  them,  or  of  any  kind  of  people  else  that  any  cause  have  had 
before  me,  or  otherwise  any  meddling  with  me,  find  himself  so 
sore  grieved  with  anything  that  I  have  taken  of  his,  he  had  some 
time  to  speak  thereof  And  now  sith  no  man  cometh  forth  to 
ask  any  restitution  yet,  but  hold  their  peace  and  slack  their  time 
so  long  :  I  give  them  all  plain  peremptory  warning  now,  that  they 
drive  it  off  no  longer  For  if  they  tarry  till  yesterday,  and  then 
come  and  ask  so  great  sums  among  them  as  shall  amount  to 
twenty  thousand  marks,  I  purpose  to  purchase  such  a  protection 
for  them  that  I  will  leave  myself  less  than  the  fourth  part,  even 
of  shrewdness,  rather  than  ever  I  will  pay  them. 

And  now  dare  I  say,  that  if  this  pacifier  had  by  experience 
known  the  troth  of  that  kind  of  people,  he  would  not  have  given 
so  much  credence  to  their  lamentable  complainings,  as  it  seemeth 
me  by  some  of  his  "  Some  says  "  he  doth. 

Howbeit  what  faith  my  words  will  have  with  him  in  these 
mine  own  causes,  I  cannot  very  surely  say,  nor  yet  very  greatly 
care.  And  yet  stand  I  not  in  so  much  doubt  of  myself,  but  that 
I  trust  well  that  among  many  good  and  honest  men,  among 
which  sort  of  folk  I  trust  I  may  reckon  him,  mine  own  word 
would  alone,  even  in  mine  own  cause,  be  somewhat  better  be- 
lieved than  would  the  oaths  of  some  twain  of  this  new  brotherhood 
in  a  matter  of  another  man. 

vol..  I.  N 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


HOW   FAR   IS   RECREATION   LAWFUL? 

Anthony  and  Vincent — Uncle  and  Nephew. 

Vincent. — And  first,  good  Uncle,  ere  we  proceed  farther,  I  will  be 
bold  to  move  you  one  thing  more  of  that  we  talked  when  I  was 
here  before.  For  when  I  revolved  in  my  mind  again  the  things 
that  were  concluded  here  by  you,  methought  ye  would  in  no  wise 
that  in  any  tribulation  men  should  seek  for  comfort,  either  in 
worldly  things  or  fleshly,  which  mind.  Uncle,  of  yours,  seemeth 
somewhat  hard,  for  a  merry  tale  with  a  friend,  refresheth  a  man 
much,  and  without  any  harm  lighteth  his  mind  and  amendeth  his 
courage  and  his  stomach,  so  that  it  seemeth  but  well  done  to  take 
such  recreation.  And  Solomon  saith  I  trow,  that  men  should  in 
heaviness  give  the  sorry  man  wine  to  make  him  forget  his  sorrow. 
And  Saint  Thomas  saith,  that  proper  pleasant  talking,  which  is 
called  evrpaTreXia,  is  a  good  virtue  serving  to  refresh  the  mind  and 
make  it  quick  and  lusty  to  labour  and  study  again,  where  con- 
tinual fatigation  would  make  it  dull  and  deadly. 

Anthony. — Cousin,  I  forgat  not  that  point,  but  I  longed  not 
much  to  touch  it,  for  neither  might  I  well  utterly  forbear  it,  where 
the  case  might  hap  to  fall  that  it  should  not  hurt,  and  on  the 
other  side,  if  the  case  so  should  fall,  methought  yet  it  should  little 
need  to  give  any  man  counsel  to  it ;  folk  are  prone  enough  to 
such  fantasies  of  their  own  mind.  You  may  see  this  by  ourself, 
which  coming  now  together,  to  talk  of  as  earnest  sad  matter  as 
men  can  devise,  were  fallen  yet  even  at  the  first  into  wanton  idle 
tales  :  and  of  truth.  Cousin,  as  you  know  very  well,  myself  am  of 
nature  even  half  a  giglot  and  more.  I  would  I  could  as  easily 
mend  my  fault  as  I  well  know  it,  but  scant  can  I  refrain  it,  as  old 
a  fool  as  I  am  :  howbeit  so  partial  will  I  not  be  to  my  fault  as  to 
praise  it.  But  for  that  you  require  my  mind  in  the  matter, 
whether  men  in  tribulation  may  not  lawfully  seek  recreation  and 
comfort  themselves,  with  some  honest  mirth,  first  agreed  that  our 
chief  comfort  must  be  in  God,  and  that  with  him  we  must  begin, 
and  with  him  continue,  and  with  him  end  also.  A  man  to  take 
now  and  then  some  honest  worldly  mirth,  I  dare  not  be  so  sore  as 
utterly  to  forbid  it,  sith  good  men  and  well  learned,  have  in  some 
case  allowed  it,  specially  for  the  diversity  of  divers  men's  minds  : 
for  else  if  we  were  all  such,  as  would  God  we  were,  and  such  as 


SIR  THOMAS  MORE^.  1 79 

natural  wisdom  would  we  should  be,  and  it  is  not  all  clean  excuse- 
able  that  we  be  not  in  deed  :  I  would  then  put  do  nought,  but  that 
unto  any  man  the  most  comfortable  talking  that  could  be,  were  to 
hear  of  Heaven.  Whereas  now,  God  help  us,  our  wretchedness  is 
such  that  in  talking  a  while  thereof,  men  wax  almost  weary,  and 
as  though  to  hear  of  Heaven  were  an  heavy  burthen,  they  must 
refresh  themselves  with  a  foolish  tale.  Our  affection  toward 
heavenly  joys  waxeth  wonderful  cold.  If  dread  of  hell  were  as  far 
gone,  very  few  would  fear  God,  but  that  yet  a  little  sticketh  in 
our  stomachs.  Mark  me,  Cousin,  at  the  sermon,  and  commonly 
towards  the  end,  somewhat  the  preacher  speaketh  of  hell  and 
Heaven  :  now  while  he  preacheth  of  the  pains  of  hell,  still  they 
stand  and  yet  give  him  the  hearing.  But  as  soon  as  he  cometh 
to  the  joys  of  Heaven,  they  be  busking  them  backward  undjlock- 
Dieal  fall  away.  It  is  in  the  soul  somewhat  as  it  is  in  the  body. 
Some  are  there  of  nature  or  of  evil  custom  come  to  that  point, 
that  a  worse  thing''  sometimes  more  steadeth  them  than  a  better. 

Some  man  if  he  be  sick,  can  away  with  no  wholesome  meat, 
nor  no  medicine  can  go  down  with  him,  but  if  it  be  tempered  with 
some  such  thing  for  his  fantasy  as  maketh  the  meat  or  the 
medicine  less  wholesome  than  it  should  be.  And  yet  while  it 
will  be  no  better,  we  must  let  him  have  it  so.  Cassianus,  the 
very  virtuous,  rehearseth  in  a  certain  collection  of  his  that  a  cer- 
tain holy  father  in  making  of  a  sermon,  spake  of  heaven  and 
heavenly  things,  so  celestially,  that  much  of  his  audience  with 
the  sweet  sound  thereof,  began  to  forget  all  the  world  and  fall 
asleep  :  which  when  the  father  beheld,  he  dissembled  their  sleep- 
ing and  suddenly  said  unto  them,  "  I  shall  tell  you  a  merry  tale." 
At  which  word  they  lift  up  their  heads  and  hearkened  unto  that : 
and  after  the  sleep  therewith  broken,  heard  him  tell  on  of  Heaven 
again.  In  what  wise  that  good  father  rebuked  then  their  unto- 
ward minds  so  dull  unto  the  thing  that  all  our  life  we  labour  for, 
and  so  quick  and  lusty  toward  other  trifles,  I  neither  bear  in  mind, 
nor  shall  here  need  to  rehearse.  But  thus  much  of  that  matter 
sufficeth  for  our  purpose,  that  whereas  you  demand  me  whether 
in  tribulation  men  may  not  sometimes  refresh  themselves  with 
worldly  mirth  and  recreation,  I  can  no  more  say,  but  he  that  can- 
not long  endure  to  hold  up  his  head  and  hear  talking  of  Heaven, 
except  he  be  now  and  then  between  (as  though  Heaven  were 
heaviness)  refreshed  with  a  merry  foolish  tale,  there  is  none  other 
remedy  but  you  must  let  him  have  it :  better  would  I  wish  it,  but 


i8o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


I  cannot  help  it.  Howbeit,  let  us,  by  mine  advice,  at  the  least- 
wise make  those  kinds  of  recreation  as  short  and  as  seldom  as  we 
can  ;  let  them  serve  us  but  for  sauce,  and  make  them  not  our 
meat,  and  let  us  pray  unto  God,  and  all  our  good  friends  for  us, 
that  we  may  feel  such  a  savour  in  the  delight  of  Heaven,  that  in 
respect  of  the  talking  of  the  joys  thereof,  all  worldly  recreation  be 
but  a  grief  to  think  on.  And  be  sure,  cousin,  that  if  we  might 
once  purchase  the  grace  to  come  to  that  point,  we  never  found  of 
worldly  recreation  so  much  comfort  in  a  year,  as  we  should  find 
in  the  bethinking  us  of  Heaven  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 

Vincent. — In  faith.  Uncle,  I  can  well  agree  to  this  ;  and  I  pray 
God  bring  us  once  to  take  such  a  savour  in  it :  and  surely  as  you 
began  the  other  day,  by  faith  must  we  come  to  it,  and  to  faith  by 
prayer. 

(From  A  Dialogue  of  Comfort  against  Tribulation.') 


WILLIAM  TYNDALE 

[William  Tyndale,  sometimes  called  Hutchins,  was  born  in  Glou  cestershir 
"upon  the  borders  of  Wales,  "  about  1490.  He  studied  at  Magdalen  Hall, 
Oxford,  and  afterwards  at  Cambridge,  and  was  ordained  priest.  After  leaving 
the  latter  university  he  became  tutor  in  the  house  of  Sir  John  Walsh,  in  his 
native  county.  He  was  full  of  the  "new  learning"  in  all  its  kinds,  Greek  scholar- 
ship and  rational  theology,  and  resolved  to  translate  the  New  Testament  from 
Greek  into  English.  His  hope  was  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  do  this  as 
chaplain  to  the  Bishop  of  London  (Tunstall),  but  Tunstall  would  not  give  him 
the  appointment.  He  was  befriended  by  Humphrey  Monmouth,  a  liberal 
citizen,  but  soon  left  England,  and  went  to  Hamburg  in  May  1524.  His 
translation  was  published  in  1526  at  Worms,  the  printing,  begun  at  Cologne, 
having  been  interrupted  :  and  a  second  edition  followed  before  the  end  of  the 
year.  Of  the  first  edition  there  remains  only  a  single  fragment,  containing 
the  Prologue  and  part  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew,  which  has  been  edited  in 
facsimile  by  Mr.  Arber,  with  a  valuable  introduction.  The  translation — "  the 
unsell  (graceless)  wicked  New  Testament,"  as  Lyndsay  ironically  called  it — was 
received  with  small  favour  by  the  English  Bishops.  The  chief  objections  to  it 
were  set  out  by  Sir  Thomas  More,  who  became  involved  in  a  controversy  with 
Tyndale  in  1528.  Meantime  Tyndale  went  on  with  his  translation,  and 
completed  his  version  of  the  Pentateuch  in  1530.  He  was  put  to  death  for 
heresy  at  Vilvorde  in  1536.  Besides  his  translations  with  their  introductions, 
and  his  pamphlets  against  More,  his  chief  works  are  The  Obedience  of  a 
Christian  Man  (Marburg,  1528),  The  Parable  of  the  wicked  Mammon  (same 
place  and  date).  The  Practice  of  Prelates  {i^-y>).  An  Exposition  upon  the 
V.  vi.  vii.  Chapters  of  St  Matthew's  Gospel.  His  collected  works  were  pub- 
lished along  with  those  of  Frith  and  Barnes,  in  folio,  1573  ;  there  are  two 
modern  editions,  the  most  recent  being  that  of  the  Parker  Society,  1848- 1850.] 

Tyndale,  as  founder  of  the  English  version  of  the  Bible,  is 
entitled  to  rank  among  the  greatest  of  prose  writers.  As  an 
original  author  he  is  distinguished  for  the  humble  yet  not  too 
ordinary  virtues  of  clearness  and  directness.  He  had  a  complete 
coiTimand  of  the  language  for  the  purposes  of  theological  argument 
and  controversy.  His  meaning  is  always  plain,  and  if  his  treatises 
are  not  now  popular,  that  comes  from  loss  of  general  interest  in  his 
matter,  and  not  froin  any  deterrent  or  wearisome  qualities  in  his 
181 


i82  ENGLISH  PROSE 


style.  Lofty  and  eloquent  passages  are  hardly  to  be  found  in 
him,  but  his  views  are  stated  concisely  and  effectively.  His 
phrases  are  generally  short  and  free  from  encumbrance.  There 
is  little  colour  or  imagination  in  his  discourse,  but  it  is  not  laboured 
or  clumsy. 

In  Tyndale's  writings  there  may  be  traced  very  easily  a  kinship 
to  the  earlier  reformers,  who  were  more  tolerant  than  he  :  if  he 
differs  from  them,  he  differs  hardly  less  from  the  iconoclasts.  He 
translated  the  E>tchiridion  of  Erasmus,  and  appreciated  the  Praise 
of  Folly  at  least  so  far  as  to  conclude  from  it  that  Sir  Thomas 
More,  in  his  youth,  had  been  more  liberal  than  he  showed  himself 
in  his  later  years.  With  Tyndale  the  argument  against  the  Pope 
and  the  old  fashions  of  religion  is  still  part  of  the  general  warfare 
in  which  he  and  Sir  Thomas  More  were  not  antagonists.  He  has 
not  much  to  do,  directly,  with  the  Humanities,  but  he  is  on  their 
side  against  the  dull  party  that  would  have  none  of  them. 

"  Remember  ye  not  how  within  this  thirty  years  and  far  less, 
and  yet  dureth  unto  this  day,  the  old  barking  curs.  Dunce's  dis- 
ciples and  like  draff,  called  Scotists,  the  children  of  darkness, 
raged  in  every  pulpit  against  Greek,  Latin,  and  Hebrew  ?  and 
what  sorrow  the  schoolmasters  that  taught  the  Latin  tongue  had 
with  them,  some  beating  the  pulpit  with  their  fists  for  madness, 
and  roaring  out  with  open  and  foaming  mouth,  that  if  there  were 
but  one  Terence  or  Virgil  in  the  world,  and  that  same  in  their 
sleeves  on  fire  before  them,  they  would  burn  them  therein,  though 
it  should  cost  them  their  lives,  affirming  that  all  good  learning 
decayed  and  was  utterly  lost  since  men  gave  them  unto  the  Latin 
tongue  ?" 

His  arguments  are  pervaded  by  the  desire  for  rational  scholar- 
ship. He  attacks  the  allegorical  and  tropological  methods  that 
took  up  the  light  and  hindered  the  sober  explanation  and  under- 
standing of  documents. 

"  The  greatest  cause  of  which  captivity  and  the  decay  of  the 
faith  and  this  blindness  wherein  we  now  are,  sprang  first  of 
allegories."  "Twenty  doctors  expound  one  text  twenty  ways,  as 
children  make  descant  upon  plain  song."  Erasmus  had  explained 
how  anything  that  offered  itself  for  interpretation  in  any  book — 
the  Gesta  Romanorum  for  instance — was  raised  by  the  interpreta- 
tion into  the  rank  of  Scripture.  Tyndale  dwells  seriously  on  the 
same  fashion  of  providing  authorities  out  of  the  first  book  that 
came  to  hand.      "Yea,  thou  shalt  find  enough  that  will  preach 


WILLIAM  TYNDALE  183 

Christ,  and  prove  whatsoever  point  of  the  faith  that  thou  wilt  as 
well  out  of  a  fable  of  Ovid  or  any  other  poet,  as  out  of  St.  John's 
Gospel  or  Paul's  Epistles."  The  "  Frere  Lubin "  who  found 
the  Sacraments  in  the  Metamorphoses  was  fair  game  for  Tyndale 
as  well  as  for  Rabelais  {Prologue  to  Gargantt/a),  and  his  stroke 
tells  on  the  "  Sophisters  "  who  "  out  of  an  antitheme  of  half  an 
inch  draw  a  thread  of  nine  days  long."  His  ridicule  is  sometimes 
unmannerly  and  ineffective,  but  he  can  state  his  case  against  his 
adversaries  in  a  way  that  allows  no  evasion  of  the  issues  ;  and 
though  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  the  clownish  strain  in  his  writings, 
it  would  be  entirely  wrong  to  think  of  him  as  a  mere  railer. 
Serious  argument  is  the  substance  of  his  books.  He  is  an  extreme 
man,  an  outlaw,  fighting  hard,  with  every  temptation  to  bitterness 
and  uncharitableness.  Yet  he  is  not  consciously  and  intentionally 
unjust.  For  all  his  eagerness  and  bis  strenuous  way  of  urging 
his  cause,  the  humanist  temper  prevails  in  an  unexpected  way, 
and  Tyndale  shows  a  power  of  distinguishing  between  the  old 
ritual  and  the  abuse  of  it,  the  old  forms  of  religion  and  the  corrup- 
tion of  them,  which  would  have  been  utterly  beyond  the  reach 
and  the  intelligence  of  Martin  Marprelate.  His  uncompromising 
speeches  sometimes,  if  taken  by  themselves,  may  misrepresent  his 
belief  and  his  character.  To  speak  of  "  Satan  and  Antichrist  our 
Most  Holy  Father  the  Pope  "  is  boisterous  and  riotous,  and  pro- 
mises litl,le  moderation  or  impartiality,  little  but  the  usual  loud 
commentary  on  the  priests  of  Baal  or  the  stump  of  Dagon.  But 
Tyndale  does  not  greatly  indulge  in  this  exciting  kind  of  demon- 
stration. If  he  is  not  Catholic  in  his  careful  treatment  of  such 
vexed  subjects  as  images,  pilgrimages,  and  the  worship  of  saints, 
he  is  not  destructive.  He  fights  against  superstition,  not  against 
ceremonies.  He  leaves  no  room  for  doubt  on  this  point.  As  on 
the  one  hand  he  protests  against  idolatry  and  superstition,  so  on 
the  other  he  would  maintain  the  liberty  of  the  Church  ;  he  would 
not  pull  down  images  where  there  was  no  idolatry,  and  would 
allow  all  men  to  go  on  pilgrimages  who  expected  no  magical 
result  from  them.  In  at  least  one  copy  of  the  folio  edition  of  his 
works  a  number  of  passages  have  been  struck  through  by  some 
later-born  and  stronger-minded  Protestant  than  Tyndale,  who  found 
this  tolerance  of  ceremonies  offensive.  Thus  Tyndale,  who  in 
his  own  generation  was  as  little  open  to  the  charge  of  vagueness 
or  want  of  resolution  as  any  one,  became  guilty,  after  his  death, 
of  temporising  with  the  enemy ;  and,  no  doubt,  appeared  to  his 


1 84  ENGLISH  PROSE 


successors  not  much  better  than  the  author  of  Utopia,  Sir  Thomas 
More  the  persecutor.  It  is  the  fortune  of  Tyndale  that  in  process 
of  years  his  asperities  became  softened  away.  If  he  is  rude  to 
the  schoolmen  and  their  machinery,  to  the  allegorical  mode  of 
interpretation,  to  the  Pope  and  monks  and  friars,  he  is  rude,  like 
Erasmus  and  Rabelais,  in  the  cause  of  scholarship  and  sound 
reason.  There  may  be  found  in  his  books  phrases  and  theories 
that  are  ungenerous  and  narrow-minded,  but  on  some  of  the  greatest 
questions,  Tyndale  has  spoken,  not  like  a  fanatic,  but  like  a  citizen 
of  Utopia. 

W.   P.   Ker. 


OF   WORSHIPPING   OF   SACRAMENTS,  CEREMONIES, 
IMAGES,   RELICS,  AND   SO   FORTH 

Now  let  us  come  to  the  worshipping  or  honouring  of  sacraments, 
ceremonies,  images,  and  relics.  First,  images  be  not  God,  and 
therefore  no  confidence  is  to  be  put  in  them.  They  be  not 
made  after  the  image  of  God,  nor  are  the  price  of  Christ's  blood  ; 
but  the  workmanship  of  the  craftsman,  and  the  price  of  money, 
and  therefore  inferiors  to  man. 

Wherefore  of  all  right  man  is  lord  over  them,  and  the  honour 
of  them  is  to  do  man  service  ;  and  man's  dishonour  it  is  to  do 
them  honourable  service,  as  unto  his  better.  Images  then,  and 
relics,  yea,  and  as  Christ  saith,  the  holy  day  too,  are  servants 
unto  man.  And  therefore  it  followeth  that  we  cannot,  but  unto 
our  damnation,  put  on  a  coat  worth  an  hundred  coats  upon  a 
post's  back,  and  let  the  image  of  God  and  the  price  of  Christ's 
blood  go  up  and  down  thereby  naked.  For  if  we  care  more  to 
clothe  the  dead  image  made  by  man,  and  the  price  of  silver, 
than  the  lively  image  of  God,  and  the  price  of  Christ's  blood  ; 
then  we  dishonour  the  image  of  God,  and  him  that  made  him, 
and  the  price  of  Christ's  blood  and  him  that  bought  him. 

Wherefore  the  right  use,  office,  and  honour  of  all  creatures, 
inferiors  unto  man,  is  to  do  man  service  ;  whether  they  be  images, 
relics,  ornaments,  signs,  or  sacraments,  holy  days,  ceremonies 
or  sacrifices.  And  that  may  be  on  this  manner,  and  no  doubt 
it  so  once  was.  If  (for  an  example)  I  take  a  piece  of  the  cross 
of  Christ,  and  make  a  little  cross  thereof  and  bear  it  about  me, 
to  look  thereon  with  a  repenting  heart  at  times  when  I  am 
moved  thereto,  to  put  me  in  remembrance  that  the  body  of 
Christ  was  broken  and  His  blood  shed  thereon  for  my  sins  ; 
and  believe  stedfastly  that  the  merciful  truth  of  God  shall 
forgive  the  sins  of  all  that  repent,  for  His  death's  sake,  and 
never  think  on  them  more  ;  then  rt  serveth  me  and  I  not  it ; 
185 


1 86  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  doth  me  the  same  service  as  if  I  read  the  testament  in  a 
book,  or  as  if  the  preacher  preached  it  unto  me.  And  in  like 
manner,  if  I  make  a  cross  in  my  forehead,  in  a  remembrance 
that  God  hath  promised  assistance  unto  all  that  believe  in  him, 
for  His  sake  that  died  on  the  cross,  then  doth  the  cross  serve 
me,  and  I  not  it.  And  in  like  manner,  if  I  bear  on  me  or  look 
upon  a  cross,  of  whatsoever  matter  it  be,  or  make  a  cross  upon 
me,  in  remembrance  that  whosoever  will  be  Christ's  disciple 
must  suffer  a  cross  of  adversity,  tribulations,  and  persecution, 
so  doth  the  cross  serve  me  and  I  not  it.  And  this  was  the 
use  of  the  cross  once,  and  for  this  cause  it  was  at  the  beginning 
set  up  in  the  churches. 

And  so,  if  I  make  an  image  of  Christ,  or  of  any  thing  that 
Christ  hath  done  for  me,  in  a  memory^  it  is  good  and  not  evil 
until  it  be  abused.  And  even  so,  if  I  take  the  true  life  of  a 
saint,  and  cause  it  to  be  painted  or  carved,  to  put  me  in 
remembrance  of  the  saint's  life,  to  follow  the  saint  as  the  saint 
did  Christ ;  and  to  put  me  in  remembrance  of  the  great  faith 
of  the  saint  to  God,  and  how  true  God  was  to  help  him  out  of 
all  tribulation,  and  to  see  the  saint's  love  towards  his  neighbour, 
in  that  he  so  patiently  suffered  so  painful  a  death,  and  so  cruel 
a  martyrdom  to  testify  the  truth,  for  to  save  other,  and  all  to 
strength  my  soul  withal  and  my  faith  to  God  and  love  to  my 
neighbour,  then  doth  the  image  serve  me  and  I  not  it.  And 
this  was  the  use  of  images  at  the  beginning,  and  of  relics  also. 
And  to  kneel  before  the  cross  unto  the  Word  of  God  which  the 
cross  preacheth  is  not  evil.  Neither  to  kneel  down  before  an 
image,  in  a  man's  meditations,  to  call  the  living  of  the  saint  to 
mind,  for  to  desire  God  of  like  grace  to  follow  the  ensample,  is 
not  evil.  But  the  abuse  of  the  thing  is  evil,  and  to  have  a 
false  faith,  as  to  bear  a  piece  of  the  cross  about  a  man,  thinking 
that  so  long  as  that  is  about  him,  spirits  shall  not  come  at 
him,  his  enemies  shall  do  him  no  bodily  harm,  all  causes  shall 
go  on  his  side  even  for  bearing  it  about  him;  and  to  think  that 
if  it  were  not  about  him  it  would  not  be  so,  and  to  think  if  any 
misfortune  chance  that  it  came  for  leaving  it  off,  or  because 
this  or  that  ceremony  was  left  undone,  and  not  rather  because 
we  have  broken  God's  commandments,  or  that  God  tempteth 
us,  to  prove  our  patience,  this  is  plain  idolatry  ;  and  here  a 
man  is  captive,  bond  and  servant  unto  a  false  faith  and  a  false 
imagination,    that    is    neither   God   nor    His  Word,      Now  am   I 


WILLIAM  TYNDALE  187 

God's  only,  and  ought  to  serve  nothing  but  God  and  His  Word. 
My  body  must  serve  the  rulers  of  this  world  and  my  neighbour, 
as  God  hath  appointed  it  and  so  must  all  my  goods  ;  but  my 
soul  must  serve  God  only,  to  love  his  law  and  to  trust  in  his 
promises  of  mercy  in  all  my  deeds.  And  in  like  manner  it  is 
that  thousands,  while  the  priest  pattereth  St.  John's  Gospel  in 
Latin  over  their  heads,  cross  themselves  with,  I  trow,  a  legion 
of  crosses  behind  and  before;  and  (as  Jack-of- Napes,  when  he 
claweth  himself)  pluck  up  their  legs  and  cross  so  much  as  their 
heels  and  the  very  soles  of  their  feet,  and  believe  that  if  it  be 
done  in  the  time  that  he  readeth  the  gospel  (and  else  not)  that 
there  shall  no  mischance  happen  them  that  day,  because  only 
of  those  crosses.  And  where  he  should  cross  himself,  to  be 
armed  and  to  make  himself  strong  to  bear  the  cross  with  Christ, 
he  crosseth  himself  to  drive  the  cross  from  him  ;  and  blesseth 
himself  with  a  cross  from  the  cross.  And  if  he  leave  it  undone, 
he  thinketh  it  no  small  sin,  and  that  God  is  highly  displeased 
with  him,  and  if  any  misfortune  chance  thinketh  it  is  therefore, 
which  is  also  idolatry  and  not  God's  Word.  And  such  is  the 
confidence  in  the  place  or  image,  or  whatsoever  bodily  observ- 
ance it  be  ;  such  is  St.  Agatha's  letter  written  in  the  gospel  time. 
And  such  are  the  crosses  on  Palm -Sunday,  made  in  the  passion 
time.  And  such  is  the  bearing  of  holy  wax  about  a  man.  And 
such  is  that  some  hang  a  piece  of  St.  John's  gospel  about  their 
necks.  And  such  is  to  bear  the  names  of  God  with  crosses 
between  each  name,  about  them.  Such  is  the  saying  of  gospels 
unto  women  in  child -bed.  Such  is  the  limit  er's  saying  of  In 
principio  erat  verbuiii,  from  house  to  house.  Such  is  the  saying 
of  gospels  to  the  corn  in  the  field,  in  the  procession -week, 
that  it  should  the  better  grow.  And  such  is  holy  bread,  holy 
water,  and  serving  of  all  ceremonies  and  sacraments  in  general, 
without  signification.  And  I  pray  you,  how  is  it  possible  that 
the  people  can  worship  images,  relics,  ceremonies,  and  sacraments, 
save  superstitiously  ;  so  long  as  they  know  not  the  true  meaning, 
neither  will  the  prelates  suffer  any  man  to  tell  them,  yea,  and 
the  very  meaning  of  some,  and  right  use  no  man  can  tell  ? 


i88  ENGLISH  PROSE 


PILGRIMAGES 

To  speak  of  pilgrimages,  I  say  that  a  christian  man,  so  that 
he  leave  nothing  undone  at  home  that  he  is  bound  to  do,  is 
free  to  go  whither  he  will,  only  after  the  doctrine  of  the  Lord, 
whose  servant  he  is  and  not  his  own.  If  he  go  and  visit  the 
poor,  the  sick,  and  the  prisoner,  it  is  well  done,  and  a  work 
that  God  commandeth.  If  he  go  to  this  or  that  place  to  hear  a 
sermon,  or  because  his  mind  is  not  quiet  at  home  ;  or  if  because 
his  heart  is  too  much  occupied  in  his  worldly  businesses,  by  the 
reason  of  occasions  at  home,  he  gets  him  into  a  more  quiet  and 
still  place  where  his  mind  is  more  abstract,  and  pulled  from 
worldly  thoughts,  it  is  well  done.  And  in  all  these  places,  if 
whatsoever  it  be,  whether  lively  preaching,  ceremony,  relic,  or 
image,  stir  up  his  heart  to  God,  and  preach  the  Word  of  God, 
and  the  ensample  of  our  Saviour  Jesus,  more  in  one  place  than 
in  another ;  that  he  thither  go  I  am  content.  And  yet  he 
biddth  a  lord,  and  the  things  serve  him,  and  he  not  them.  Now 
whether  his  intent  be  so  or  no,  his  deeds  will  testify ;  as  his 
virtuous  governing  of  his  house,  and  loving  demeanour  toward 
his  neighbours.  Yea,  and  God's  Word  will  be  alway  in  his 
heart,  and  in  his  mouth,  and  he  every  day  perfecter  than  other. 
For  there  can  nothing  edify  man's  soul,  save  that  which 
preacheth,  him  God's  Word.  Only  the  Word  of  God  worketh 
the  health  of  the  soul.  And  whatsoever  preacheth  him  that, 
cannot  but  make  him  perfecter. 

But  to  believe  that  God  will  be  sought  more  in  one  place 
than  in  another,  or  that  God  will  hear  thee  more  in  one  place 
than  in  another,  or  more  where  the  image  is  than  where  it  is 
not,  is  a  false  faith,  and  idolatry  or  image -service.  For  first, 
God  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands  (Acts  xvii.). 
Item,  Stephen  died  for  the  contrary,  and  proved  it  by  the 
prophets  (Acts  vii.).  And  Solomon  in  the  eighth  of  the  third  of 
the  Kings,  when  he  had  built  his  temple  testified  the  same,  and 
that  he  had  not  built  it  for  God  to  dwell  in  ;  yea,  and  that  God 
dwelleth  not  in  the  earth  ;  but  that  he  should  out  of  Heaven 
hear  the  prayers  of  them  that  prayed  there.  And  the  prophets 
did  often  testify  unto  the  people,  that  had  such  a  false  faith 
that  God  dwelt   in  the   temple,  that   he   dwelt   not   there.      More- 


WILLIAM  TYNDALE 


over,  God  in  his  testament  bindeth  himself  unto  no  place,  nor 
yet  thee  ;  but  speaketh  generally  (concerning  where  and  when) 
saying  (Psalm  xlix.) :  "In  the  day  of  the  tribulation  thou  shalt 
call  on  me,  and  I  will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify  me." 
He  setteth  neither  place  nor  time  ;  but  wheresoever  and  when- 
soever, so  that  the  prayer  of  Job  upon  the  dunghill  was  as 
good  as  Paul's  in  the  temple.  And  when  our  Saviour  saith 
(John  xvi.)  :  "  Whatsoever  ye  ask  my  Father  in  my  name,  I  will 
give  it  you  ;  he  saith  not  in  this  or  that  placed  or  this  or  that 
day  ;  but  wheresoever  and  whensoever,  as  well  in  the  fields  as 
in  the  town,  and  on  the  Monday  as  on  the  Sunday.  God  is  a 
spirit,  and  will  be  worshipped  in  the  spirit  (John  iv.)  :  that  is, 
though  He  be  present  everj'where,  yet  He  dwelleth  lively  and 
gloriously  in  the  minds  of  angels  only,  and  hearts  of  men  that 
love  his  laws  and  trust  in  his  promises.  And  wheresoever  God 
findeth  such  an  heart,  there  He  heareth  the  prayer  in  all  places 
and  times  indifferently.  So  that  the  outward  place  neither 
helpeth  or  hindereth,  except  (as  I  said)  that  a  man's  mind  be 
more  quiet  and  still  from  the  rage  of  worldly  businesses,  or  that 
something  stir  up  the  Word  of  God  and  example  of  our  Saviour 
more  in  one  place  than  in  another. 


SIR  THOMAS  ELYOT 

[Sir  Thomas  Elyot — born  before  1490,  died  in  1546 — son  of  Sir  Richard 
Elyot,  judge,  by  his  first  wife,  Ahce  Fynderne.  He  had  a  home  education, 
and  was  early  instructed  in  Latin  and  Greek.  There  is  no  sufficient  evidence 
that  he  was  sent  to  either  University.  He  read  Medicine,  but  apparently 
only  as  an  amateur,  and  never  practised.  On  coming  into  possession  of 
estates  by  the  death  of  his  father  and  of  a  relative  of  his  mother's,  he  settled  at 
Combe,  near  Woodstock.  In  1523  he  was  appointed  by  Wolsey  to  the  post 
of  Clerk  of  the  Privy  Council,  which  he  held  till  1530.  In  1531  Elyot  pub- 
lished his  most  important  and  best  known  work,  The  Boke  called  the  Gnernor, 
dedicated  to  Henry  VIII.  The  book  was  ostensibly  a  treatise  on  the  proper 
training  of  statesmen,  but  it  diverged  widely  into  education  generally  and 
the  ethical  problems  connected  with  it.  It  made  Elyot's  reputation  at  Court, 
and  led  to  his  appointment  as  Ambassador  at  the  Court  of  Charles  V.  He 
continued  to  be  employed  in  diplomatic  and  other  state  negotiations  at  home 
and  abroad  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  was  Member  for  Cambridge 
in  1542.      He  died  20th  March  1546. 

A  complete  list  of  Sir  Thomas  Elyot's  works  will  be  found  in  Mr.  H.  H.  S. 
Croft's  e-xhaustive  and  valuable  edition  of  the  Governor  (1883),  and  in  the 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography  (Art.  "  Elyot,"  vol.  xvii).  The  Governor 
went  through  seven  editions  between  1531  and  1580.  The  Castel  of  Health 
(circa  1534),  a  list  of  remedies  for  various  ailments,  had  also  considerable 
vogue;  and  a  Latin-English  Dictionary  (1538)  remained  the  standard  work 
of  the  kind,  under  the  revision  of  succeeding  scholars,  for  a  century  after- 
wards. ] 

Sir  Thomas  Elyot's  place  in  English  prose  seems  to  fall,  in 
other  respects  than  mere  chronological  order,  between  Sir  Thomas 
More  and  Roger  Ascham.  In  the  English  that  he  wrote,  he  is 
somewhat  less  archaic  than  the  former,  and  less  modern  than  the 
latter.  If  Elyot  is  less  cumbrous  than  More,  he  never  attains  the 
vivacity  of  Ascham.  Chann  of  style  was  hardly  as  yet  a  gift  to 
which  English  prose  had  attained.  Elyot  has  many  virtues — 
clearness  and  precision  among  them — but  if  he  seldom  falls  below 
a  certain  level,  he  as  seldoni  rises  above  it.  He  is  measured  and 
monotonous,  and  the  superabundance  of  quotation  and  allusion 
191 


192  ENGLISH  PROSE 


from  Greek  and  Latin  history  and  literature  is  not  relieved  by 
any  versatility  of  manner.  But  his  excellent  good  sense  and 
sagacity  make  him  very  readable.  His  pedantry  —  the  over- 
weighting with  ancient  examples  just  referred  to  —  is  but  the 
inevitable  pedantry  of  the  Renascence.  And  if  he  coins  or  imports 
many  words  of  foreign  origin  that  were  not  wanted  and  accordingly 
did  not  survive,  this  also  was  an  epidemic  of  his  day  and  is  not 
to  be  charged  to  him  personally.  A  complete  list  of  such  words 
is  one  of  the  many  excellent  features  of  Mr.  Croft's  edition.  But 
if  Elyot  is  pedantic  in  matter,  his  style  is  free  from  the  affectation 
which  was  so  soon  to  possess  English  prose  for  a  century  to 
follow.  The  Euphuistic  artificiality  was  not  yet  born,  and  Elyot 
is  untouched  by  the  spell  of  Guevara,  the  real  founder  of  the 
Euphuistic  manner,  whose  work,  The  Golden  Book  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  translated  by  Lord  Berners,  appeared  three  years  later 
than  the  Cover 7107: 

In  yet  another  sense  Elyot  proves  a  kind  of  connecting  link 
between  More  and  Ascham.  The  object  with  which  he  under- 
took the  Gover77or — the  only  work  it  is  necessary  to  consider 
here — bears  a  certain  resemblance  to  the  scheme  of  the  Utopia. 
Both  writers  were  bent  on  emphasising  the  conditions  of  a  perfect 
commonwealth.  M ore's  book  was  announced  by  his  translator, 
Robynson,  as  setting  forth  the  "  best  state  of  a  public  weale,"  and 
Elyot  in  his  dedication  to  Henry  VHL,  declares  the  same  in- 
tention, namely,  to  describe  in  the  vulgar  tongue  "  the  form  of  a 
just  public  weal."  It  is  true  that  Elyot  finally  concentrates  his 
attention  on  a  single  aspect  of  national  welfare— the  fitting  educa- 
tion of  those  who  are  to  be  its  rulers, — but  the  aim  of  the  two 
writers  is  one,  and  their  noble  effort  to  raise  the  standard  of 
righteousness  in  public  men  and  affairs  was  admirably  seconded 
within  a  few  years  by  Ascham  and  Lyly.  Good  sense  and  good 
morals  applied  to  the  earliest  education  of  those  destined  to 
govern,  was  the  starting  point  of  Elyot's  work,  but  as  he  pro- 
ceeded he  evidently  felt  that  the  fit  training  for  the  statesman 
was  also  the  best  for  any  other  christian  gentleman,  and  the 
treatise  resolves  itself  ultimately  into  one  on  the  ethics  of 
education  generally.  In  his  chapters  on  the  school-room,  Elyot 
covers  much  of  the  ground  afterwards  trodden  by  Ascham,  and 
many  of  the  more  obvious  blots  or  defects  in  the  elementary 
teaching  of  their  day  are  dealt  with  by  the  two  writers.  It  is 
strange  that  Ascham  nowhere  refers  to,  or  recognises  the  services 


SIR  THOMAS  ELYOT  I93 

of  his  predecessor.  In  the  first  of  the  three  passages  chosen  for 
illustration  (Book  i.  chap,  x.),  Elyot  takes  a  line  which  has  found 
ardent  advocates  with  many  educational  reformers  up  to  our 
own  day — the  advisability  of  allowing  the  young  learner  to  acquire 
a  general  familiarity  with  the  sense  of  an  author  before  mastering 
the  intricacies  of  grammatical  analysis.  It  appears  that  already, 
so  soon  after  the  revival  of  learning,  teachers  were  discovering  the 
yet  familiar  truth  that  by  the  time  the  learner  comes  "  to  the 
most  swete  and  pleasant  redinge  of  olde  authors,  the  sparkes  of 
fervent  desire  of  lernynge  is  extincte  with  the  burden  of  grammar." 
In  the  second  extract  given  Elyot  touches  with  agreeable  sarcasm 
on  another  educational  problem,  still  affording  plentiful  material  for 
the  satirist,  the  unwillingness  of  the  parent  to  pay  salaries  to  the 
tutor  or  the  governess  at  all  comparable  to  those  he  is  co'ntent  to 
afford  for  "groom  or  cook." 

Our  third  extract  reproduces  what  is,  in  substance,  the  most 
memorable  episode  in  Elyot's  work,  his  account  of  the  alleged 
fracas  between  Henry  V.,  when  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  Chief 
Justice,  ending  in  the  committal  of  the  former  to  prison.  The  pre- 
sent is  the  earliest  known  version  of  the  story.  It  was  adopted  by 
Hall  and  Holinshed  for  their  Chronicles,  and  from  the  former  of 
these  borrowed  by  Shakespeare,  who  has  made  the  incident  uni- 
versally famous.  The  source  of  Elyot's  information  on  the  sub- 
ject is  absolutely  unknown.  Mr.  Croft,  who  has  examined  the 
evidence  with  exhaustive  diligence,  comes  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  story  "  must  at  length  be  deposed  from  its  pedestal  as  the 
monument  of  a  strictly  historical  fact,  and  be  henceforth  regarded 
only  as  a  peculiarly  interesting  specimen  of  monastic  legend." 
(Croft's  Edition,  ii.  71.) 

Alfred  Ainger. 


WHAT  ORDER  SHOULD, BE   IN   LEARNING? 

Now  let  us  return  to  the  order  of  learning  apt  for  a  gentle  man. 
Wherein  I  am  of  the  opinion  of  Quintilian  that  I  would  have  him 
learn  Greek  and  Latin  authors,  both  at  one  time  :  or  else  to  begin 
with  Greek,  for  as  much  as  that  it  is  hardest  to  come  by  :  by 
reason  of  the  diversity  of  tongues  which  be  five  in  number :  and 
all  must  be  known,  or  else  uneath  any  poet  can  be  well  under- 
standed.  And  if  a  child  do  begin  therein  at  seven  years  of  age, 
he  may  continually  learn  Greek  authors  three  years,  and  in  the 
mean  time  use  the  Latin  tongue  as  a  familiar  language  :  which  in 
a  noble  man's  son  may  well  come  to  pass,  having  none  other 
persons  to  serve  him  or  keeping  him  company  but  such  as  can 
speak  Latin  elegantly.  And  what  doubt  is  there  but  so  may  he 
as  soon  speak  good  Latin,  as  he  may  do  pure  French,  which  now 
is  .brought  into  as  many  rules  and  figures,  and  as  long  a  grammar 
as  is  Latin  or  Greek.  I  will  not  contend  who,  among  them  that 
do  write  grammars  of  Greek  (which  now  almost  be  innumerable), 
is  the  best  ;  but  that  I  refer  to  the  discretion  of  a  wise  master. 
Alvvay  I  would  advise  him  not  to  detain  the  child  too  long  in 
that  tedious  labours,  either  in  the  Greek  or  Latin  grammar.  For 
a  gentle  wit  is  therewith  soon  fatigate. 

Grammar  being  but  an  introduction  to  the  understanding  of 
authors,  if  it  be  made  too  long  or  exquisite  to  the  learner,  it  in  a 
manner  mortifieth  his  courage  :  and  by  that  time  he  cometh  to 
the  most  sweet  and  pleasant  reading  of  old  authors,  the  sparks  of 
fervent  desire  of  learning  is  extinct  with  the  burden  of  grammar, 
like  as  a  little  fire  is  soon  quenched  with  a  great  heap  of  small 
sticks  :  so  that  it  can  never  come  to  the  principal  logs  where  it 
should  long  burn  in  a  great  pleasant  fire. 

Now  to  follow  my  purpose  :  after  a  few  and  quick  rules  of 
grammar,  immediately,  or  interlacing  it  therewith,  would  be  read 
to  the  child  .i^sop's  fables  in  Greek  :   in  which  argument  children 

194';.- 


SIR  THOMAS  ELYOT  19S 


much  do  delight.  And  surely  it  is  a  much  pleasant  lesson  and 
also  profitable,  as  well  for  that  it  is  elegant  and  brief  (and  not- 
withstanding it  hath  much  variety  in  words,  and  therewith  much 
helpcth  to  the  understanding  of  Greek),  as  also  in  those  fables  is 
included  much  moral  and  politic  wisdom.  Wherefore,  in  the 
teaching  of  them,  the  master  diligently  must  gather  together  those 
fables,  \\\\\c\\  may  be  most  accommodate  to  the  advancement  of 
some  \  iitue,  whereto  he  perceiveth  the  child  inclined  :  or  to  the 
rebuke  of  some  vice,  whereto  he  findeth  his  nature  disposed.  And 
therein  the  master  ought  to  exercise  his  wit,  as  well  to  make  the 
child  plainly  to  understand  the  fable,  as  also  declaring  the  signi- 
fication thereof  compendiously  and  to  the  purpose,  foreseen  alway, 
that,  as  well  this  lesson,  as  all  other  authors  which  the  child  shall 
learn,  either  Greek  or  Latin,  verse  or  prose,  be  perfectly  had 
without  the  book  :  whereby  he  shall  not  only  attain  plenty  of  the 
tongues  called  Copie,  but  also  increase  and  nourish  remembrance 
wonderfully. 

The  next  lesson  would  be  some  quick  and  merry  dialogues, 
elect  out  of  Lucian,  which  be  without  ribaldry,  or  too  much 
scorning,  for  either  of  them  is  exactly  to  be  eschewed,  specially 
for  a  noble  man,  the  one  annoying  the  soul,  the  other  his  estima- 
tion concerning  his  gravity.  The  comedies  of  Aristophanes  may 
be  in  the  place  of  Lucian,  and  by  reason  that  they  be  in  metre 
they  be  the  sooner  learned  by  heart.  I  dare  make  none  other 
comparison  between  them  for  offending  the  friends  of  them  both  : 
but  thus  much  dare  I  say,  that  it  were  better  that  a  child  should 
never  read  any  part  of  Lucian  than  all  Lucian. 

I  could  rehearse  divers  other  poets  which  for  matter  and 
eloquence  be  very  necessary,  but  I  fear  me  to  be  too  long  from 
noble  Homer :  from  whom  as  from  a  fountain  proceeded  all 
eloquence  and  learning.  For  in  his  books  be  contained,  and 
most  perfectly  expressed,  not  only  the  documents  martial  and 
discipline  of  arms,  but  also  incomparable  wisdoms,  and  instruc- 
tions for  politic  governance  of  people  :  with  the  worthy  com- 
mendation and  laud  of  noble  princes  :  wherewith  the  readers  shall 
be  so  all  inflamed,  that  they  most  fervently  shall  desire  and  covet, 
by  the  imitation  of  their  virtues,  to  acquire  semblable  glory.  For 
The  which  occasion,  Aristotle,  most  sharpest  witted  and  excellent 
learned  philosopher,  as  soon  as  he  had  received  Alexander  from 
King  Philip  his  father,  he  before  any  other  thing  taught  him  the 
most   noble   works   of  Homer :    wherein   Alexander    found  such 


196  ENGLISH  PROSE 


sweetness  and  fruit,  that  ever  after  he  had  Homer  not  only  with 
him  in  all  his  journeys,  but  also  laid  him  under  his  pillow  when 
he  went  to  rest,  and  often  times  would  purposely  wake  some 
hours  of  the  night,  to  take  as  it  were  his  pass  time  with  that  most 
noble  poet. 

For  by  the  reading  of  his  work  called  Iliados,  where  the 
assembly  of  the  most  noble  Greeks  against  Troy  is  recited  with 
their  affairs,  he  gathered  courage  and  strength  against  his  enemies, 
wisdom,  and  eloquence,  for  consultations,  and  persuasions  to  his 
people  and  army.  And  by  the  other  work  called  Odissea,  which 
recounteth  the  sundry  adventures  of  the  wise  Ulysses,  he,  by  the 
example  of  Ulysses,  apprehended  many  noble  virtues,  and  also 
learned  to  escape  the  fraud  and  deceitful  imaginations  of  sundry 
and  subtle  crafty  wits.  Also  there  shall  he  learn  to  ensearch  and 
perceive  the  manners  and  conditions  of  them  that  be  his  familiars, 
sifting  out  (as  I  mought  say)  the  best  from  the  worst,  whereby 
he  may  surely  commit  his  affairs,  and  trust  to  every  person  after 
his  virtues.  Therefore  I  now  conclude  that  there  is  no  lesson  for 
a  young  gentleman  to  be  compared  with  Homer,  if  he  be  plainly 
and  substantially  expounded  and  declared  by  the  master. 


(From  the  Governour.) 


THE   DECAY  OF  LEARNING  AMONG  GENTLEMEN 

The  second  occasion  wherefore  gentlemen's  children  seldom  have 
sufficient  learning  is  avarice.  For  where  their  parents  will  not 
adventure  to  send  them  far  out  of  their  proper  countries,  partly 
for  fear  of  death,  which  perchance  dare  not  approach  them  at 
home  with  their  father;  partly  for  expense  of  money,  which  they 
suppose  would  be  less  in  their  own  houses  or  in  a  village,  with 
some  of  their  tenants  or  friends  ;  having  seldom  any  regard  to  the 
teacher,  whether  he  be  well  learned  or  ignorant.  For  if  they  hire 
a  schoolmaster  to  teach  in  their  houses,  they  chiefly  enquire  with 
how  small  a  salary  he  v/ill  be  contented,  and  never  do  ensearch 
how  much  good  learning  he  hath,  and  how  among  well-learned 
men  he  is  therein  esteemed,  using  therein  less  diligence  than  in 
taking  servants,  whose  service  is  of  much  less  importance,  and  to 
a  good  schoolmaster  is  not  in  profit  to  be  compared.  A  gentle  man, 
ere  he  take  a  cook  into  his  seivice,  he  will  first  diligently  examine 


S/K  THOMAS  EL  YOT  197 

him,  how  many  sorts  of  meats,  potages,  and  sauces  he  can  per- 
fectly make,  and  how  well  he  can  season  them,  that  they  may  be 
both  pleasant  and  nourishing  ;  yea  and  if  it  be  but  a  falconer,  he 
will  scrupulously  enquire  what  skill  he  hath  in  feeding,  called  diet, 
and  keeping  of  his  hawk  from  all  sickness,  also  how  he  can  reclaim 
her  and  prepare  her  to  flight.  And  to  such  a  cook  or  falconer, 
whom  he  findeth  expert,  he  spareth  not  to  give  much  wages  with 
other  bounteous  rewards.  But  of  a  schoolmaster,  to  whom  he  will 
commit  his  child,  to  be  fed  with  learning  and  instructed  in  virtue, 
whose  life  shall  be  the  principal  monument  of  his  name  and 
honour,  he  never  maketh  further  enquiry  but  where  he  may  have 
a  schoolmaster ;  and  with  how  little  charge ;  and  if  one  be 
perchance  founden,  well  learned,  but  he  will  not  take  pains  to 
teach  without  he  may  have  a  great  salary,  he  then  speaketh 
nothing  more,  or  else  saith.  What  shall  so  much  wages  be  given 
to  a  schoolmaster  which  would  keep  me  two  servants  .''  To  whom 
may  be  said  these  words,  that  by  his  son  being  well-learned  he 
shall  receive  more  commodity  and  also  worship  than  by  the  service 
of  a  hundred  cooks  and  falconers. 

The  third  cause  of  this  hindrance  is  negligence  of  parents, 
which  I  do  specially  note  in  this  point ;  there  have  been  divers, 
as  well  gentle  men  as  of  the  nobility,  that  delighting  to  have  their 
sons  excellent  in  learning  have  provided  for  them  cunning  masters, 
who  substantially  have  taught  them  grammar,  and  very  well 
instructed  them  to  speak  Latin  elegantly,  whereof  the  parents  have 
taken  much  delectation  ;  but  when  they  have  had  of  grammar 
sufficient  and  be  come  to  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  and  do  approach 
or  draw  toward  the  estate  of  man,  which  age  is  called  mature  or 
ripe  (wherein  not  only  the  said  learning,  continued  by  much 
experience,  shall  be  perfectly  digested  and  confirmed  in  perpetual 
remembrance,  but  also  more  serious  learning  contained  in  other 
liberal  sciences,  and  also  philosophy,  would  then  be  learned),  the 
parents,  that  thing  nothing  regarding,  but  being  sufficed  that  their 
children  can  only  speak  Latin  properly,  or  make  verses  without 
matter  or  sentence,  they  from  thenceforth  do  suffer  them  to  live  in 
idleness,  or  else,  putting  them  to  service,  do,  as  it  were,  banish 
them  from  all  virtuous  study  or  exercise  of  that  which  they  before 
learned  ;  so  that  we  may  behold  divers  young  gentle  men  who,  in 
their  infancy  and  childhood  were  wondered  at  for  their  aptness  to 
learning  and  prompt  speaking  of  elegant  Latin,  which  now,  being 
men,  not  only  have  forgotten  their  congruity  (as  is  the  common 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


word),  and  uneaih  can  speak  one  whole  sentence  in  true  Latin, 
but,  that  worse  is,  hath  all  learning  in  derision,  and  in  scorn  thereof 
will,  of  wantonness,  speak  the  most  barbarously  that  they  can 
imagine. 

(From  the  Same.) 


PRINCE  HENRY'S  PLACABILITY 

The  most  renowned  prince,  King  Henry  the  Fifth,  late  King  of 
England,  during  the  life  of  his  father  was  noted  to  be  fierce  and 
of  wanton  courage.  It  happened  that  one  of  his  servants  whom 
he  well  favoured,  for  felony  by  him  committed,  was  arraigned  at 
the  King's  Bench  :  whereof  he  being  advertised,  and  incensed  by 
light  persons  about  him,  in  furious  rage  came  hastily  to  the  bar, 
where  his  servant  stood  as  a  prisoner,  and  commanded  him  to  be 
ungyved,  and  set  at  liberty,  whereat  all  men  were  abashed,  reserved 
the  chief  justice,  who  humbly  exhorted  the  prince  to  be  contented 
that  his  servant  mought  be  ordered  according  to  the  ancient  laws 
of  this  realm,  or  if  he  would  have  him  saved  from  the  rigour  of 
the  laws,  that  he  should  obtain,  if  he  mought,  of  the  King,  his 
father,  his  gracious  pardon  :  whereby  no  law  or  justice  should  be 
derogate.  With  which  answer  the  prince  nothing  appeased,  but 
rather  more  inflamed,  endeavoured  himself  to  take  away  his 
servant.  The  judge  considering  the  perilous  example  and  incon- 
venience that  mought  thereby  ensue,  with  a  valiant  spirit  and 
courage  commanded  the  prince  upon  his  allegiance  to  leave  the 
prisoner  and  depart  his  way.  With  which  commandment  the  prince, 
being  set  all  in  a  fury,  all  chafed,  and  in  a  terrible  manner,  came 
up  to  the  place  of  judgement— men  thinking  that  he  would  have 
slain  the  judge,  or  have  done  to  him  some  damage  ;  but  the  judge 
sitting  still,  without  moving,  declaring  the  majesty  of  the  King's 
place  of  judgement,  and  with  an  assured  and  bold  countenance, 
had  to  the  prince  these  words  following  :  Sir,  remember  yourself: 
I  keep  here  the  place  of  the  King,  your  sovereign  lord  and  father, 
to  whom  ye  owe  double  obedience,  wherefore,  eftsoons  in  his  name, 
I  charge  you  desist  of  your  wilfulness  and  unlawful  enterprise,  and 
from  henceforth  give  good  example  to  those  which  hereafter  shall 
be  your  proper  subjects.  And  now  for  your  contempt  and  dis- 
obedience, go  you  to  the  prison  of  the  King's  Bench,  whereunto  I 
commit  you  :  and  remain  ye  there  prisoner  until  the  pleasure  of 


SIR  THOMAS  ELYOT  199 

the  King,  your  father,  be  ftirther  known.  With  which  words  being 
abashed,  and  also  wondering  at  the  marvellous  gravity  of  that 
worshipful  justice,  the  noble  prince,  laying  his  weapon  apart,  doing 
reverence,  departed  and  went  to  the  King's  Bench  as  he  was 
commanded.  Whereat  his  servants  disdaining,  came  and  shewed 
to  the  King  all  the  whole  affair.  Whereat  he  a  whiles  studying, 
after  as  a  man  all  ravished  with  gladness,  holding  his  eyes  and 
hands  up  toward  heaven,  abraided,  saying  with  a  loud  voice  :  O 
merciful  God,  how  much  am  I,  above  all  other  men,  bound  to 
Your  infinite  goodness  ;  specially  for  that  Ye  have  given  me  a 
judge,  who  feareth  not  to  minister  justice,  and  also  a  son  who  can 
suffer  semblably  and  obey  justice  ? 

Now  here  a  man  may  behold  three  persons  worthy  excellent 
memory.  First,  a  judge,  who  being  a  subject,  feared  not  to  execute 
justice  on  the  eldest  son  of  his  sovereign  lord,  and  by  the  order  of 
nature  his  successor.  Also  a  prince  and  son  and  heir  of  the 
King,  in  the  midst  of  his  fury,  more  considered  his  evil  example, 
and  the  judge's  Constance  in  justice,  than  his  own  estate  or  wilful 
appetite.  Thirdly,  a  noble  King  and  wise  father,  who  contrary  to 
the  custom  of  parents,  rejoiced  to  see  his  son  and  the  heir  of  his 
crown,  to  be  for  his  disobedience  by  his  subject  corrected. 

Wherefore  I  conclude  that  nothing  is  more  honourable,  or  to 
be  desired  in  a  prince  or  noble  man,  than  placability.  As  contrary 
wise,  nothing  is  so  detestable,  or  to  be  feared  in  such  one,  as 
wrath  and  cruel  malignity, 

(From  the  Same.) 


COVERDALE  AND  THE  EARLY 
TRANSLATIONS    OF    THE    BIBLE 

[The  Hebrew  Bible  had  been  published  in  Italy  before  the  end  of  the  15th 
century  :  it  was  accessible  to  Luther  and  Tyndale  in  fairly  good  texts.  1  he 
Greek  New  Testament  was  first  published  by  Erasmus  in  1516,  with  a  Latin 
translation.  Luther's  New  Testament  in  German  appeared  in  1522,  and  his 
Old  Testament  by  instalments  between  1523  and  1532.  Another  German 
Bible,  known  as  the  Zurich  version,  was  issued  by  Zwingli  and  others  between 
1524  and  1529.  Tyndale  printed  his  first  English  New  Testament  in  1525 
at  Cologne  and  Worms,  using  the  text  of  Erasmus  and  the  translation  of 
Luther.  In  1530  his  English  Pentateuch,  translated  from  the  Hebrew,  was 
published  at  Marburg  and  before  his  death  in  1536  he  seems  to  have  placed 
in  safe  hands  an  English  version  of  the  historical  books  of  the  Old  Testament 
down  to  the  end  of  Second  Chronicles.  Coverdale's  version  of  the  whole 
Bible,  "faithfully  and  truly  translated  out  of  Douche  [German]  and  Latin 
into  English,"  was  printed,  probably  at  Zurich,  in  1535.  It  was  based  upon 
the  current  Latin  versions,  the  Zurich  German  version,  and  Tyndale,  and 
made  no  claim  to  be  a  translation  from  the  original.  In  1537  was  issued 
"Matthew's"  Bible,  "set  forthwith  the  king's  most  gracious  licence"  and 
possibly  printed  at  Antwerp.  This  Bible  was  compiled  by  John  Rogers,  the 
Old  Testament  down  to  Second  Cht-onicles,  and  the  New  Testament,  being 
Tyndale's  version,  and  the  rest  Coverdale's.  In  April  1539  appeared  the  first 
edition  of  the  "Great"  Bible,  a  large  folio  printed  in  Paris  and  London. 
The  "  Great"  Bible  was  edited  by  Coverdale,  and  was  a  revision  of  Matthew's 
Bible  collated  with  Munster's  Latin  version  of  the  Old  Testament  (1535) 
and  with  Erasmus'  Latin  New  Testament.  A  second  edition,  also  prepared 
by  Coverdale,  followed  in  April  1540,  with  a  prologue  by  Cranmer  ;  and 
before  the  end  of  1541  seven  editions  had  been  called  for.  Tyndale's  New 
Testament  had  been  publicly  burned  in  1530.  The  "Great"  Bible  was 
ordered  to  be  used  in  all  Churches.  The  change  was  due  to  Thomas  Crom- 
well, after  whose  fall  in  1540  a  period  of  reaction  began.  No  more  Bibles 
were  printed  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  Under  Edward  VI.  thirty-five 
editions  of  the  New  Testament  and  thirteen  of  the  whole  Bible  were  issued. 
From  .August  1553  to  the  end  of  Queen  Mary's  reign  public  Bible  reading  was 
prohibited  and  no  Bible  was  printed  in  England.  But  a  cluster  of  learned 
English  exiles  in  Geneva,  inspired  by  the  example  of  Beza,  who  translated  the 
New  Testament  into  Latin  in  1556,  by  Calvin's  efforts  to  improve  the  French 
versions,   and  by   the  single-handed  labours  of  one  of  themselves,   'William 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


Whittingham,  who  had  produced  an  English  New  Testament  at  Geneva  in 
1557,  undertook  a  new  revision  of  the  whole  Bible,  which  was  published,  with 
a  dedication  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  April  1560.  This  book,  which  was 
based  upon  the  "Great"  Bible,  with  constant  reference  to  the  original  texts 
and  to  the  latest  Continental  renderings,  had  the  advantage  of  appearing  in 
quarto  size,  in  Roman  letters,  and  with  the  division  into  verses.  It  was  also 
furnished  with  excellent  notes.  It  speedily  became  popular,  and  in  numerous 
editions  remained  the  favourite  English  Bible  throughout  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  lames  I.  But  it  never  received  any  official  sanction.  This  was  reserved 
for  the  "  Bishops'  "  Bible,  published  under  the  auspices  of  Archbishop  Parker 
in  1568  after  four  years'  labour  by  divines  of  the  Church  of  England.  It  was 
based  upon  the  Great  Bible,  the  Geneva  Bible,  and  the  original  te.xts.  Until 
161 1  it  was  the  official  translation  ;  but  it  was  not  printed  as  a  whole  after 
1606,  whereas  the  Geneva  translation  appeared  in  fresh  editions  down  to  1644. 
Miles  Coverdale  was  a  Yorkshireman,  born  about  1488  and  brought  up  at 
the  Augustinian  convent  in  Cambridge.  The  Prior  of  the  convent,  Robert 
Barnes,  became  a  reformer,  and  Coverdale  seems  to  have  followed  his  example. 
In  1527  he  is  found  in  correspondence  with  Cromwell.  He  subsequently  left 
his  convent,  and  after  some  time  spent  in  preaching  took  refuge  in  1528  on 
the  Continent,  and  possibly  met  Tyndale.  Little  is  known  of  his  movements 
till  1535,  when  his  English  version  of  the  whole  Bible  was  issued  ;  and  it  is 
not  until  1538  that  he  is  clearly  seen  at  work  in  Paris,  preparing  a  diglott  New 
Testament  (Vulgate  and  English)  and  the  "Great"  Bible.  From  1540 
until  the  accession  of  Edward  VI.  he  was  again  abroad,  supporting  him- 
self in  Germany  by  teaching.  In  1551  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Exeter; 
but  after  Mary's  accession  he  was  deprived  and  imprisoned.  He  remained 
in  prison  till  1555,  and  from  that  year  till  1558  he  was  once  more  in 
exile.  He  lived  in  poverty,  preaching  and  writing,  until  1563,  when  he 
received  a  living  in  London.  He  died  in  1569.  His  original  writings  are 
few  in  number,  and  of  little  note  ;  but  he  translated  several  German  works  of 
practical  divinity  and  led  the  way  in  attempting  a  metrical  English  version  of 
some  of  the  Psalms.  ] 

It  is  .very  rarely  that  a  translation  is  so  well  done  as  to  acquire 
a  separate  literary  value  of  its  own.  If  the  English  Bible 
possesses  this  inerit  in  a  pre-eminent  degree,  it  is  only  justice  to 
give  their  meed  of  credit  to  the  two  men  whose  workmanship  is 
niost  largely  traceable  in  its  pages. 

These  two  men  are  Tyndale  and  Coverdale.  To  appreciate 
their  task,  it  is  necessary  to  point  to  the  reasons  which  made  the 
Roman  Church  of  their  day  hostile  to  the  promulgation  of  the 
Scriptures  in  the  vulgar  tongues.  The  undue  conservatism  of 
ignorance,  the  pride  of  an  esoteric  priesthood,  the  dread  that 
abuses  would  be  exposed,  and  above  all  the  sense  that  the  Church 
would  cease  to  arbitrate  in  matters  of  faith  if  the  foundations  of 
the  faith  were  disclosed — -all  these  forces  were  combined  against 
the  translation  of  the  Bible.      The  Reformers,  on  the  other  hand, 


COVERDALE  AND  EARLY  BIBLE  TRANSLATIONS    203 

saw  clearly  that  their  success  depended  upon  the  degree  in  which 
the  individual  Christian  obtained  free  access  to  the  sources  of  his 
creed.  Erasmus  longed  that  the  Gospels  and  the  Epistles  of  St. 
Paul  might  be  read,  in  their  own  languages,  "  not  only  by  the 
Scotch  and  Irish,  but  by  the  Turks  and  Saracens,"  and,  in  pro- 
phetic words  which  became  a  Protestant  commonplace,  he  uttered 
a  hope  that  in  time  to  come  the  husbandman  at  his  plough,  the 
weaver  at  his  loom,  and  the  traveller  on  his  journey,  would  beguile 
their  occupation  with  songs  taken  from  the  Scriptures.  Tyndale's 
reply  to  an  ignorant  doctor  was  m  the  same  strain  :  "  [i  God  spare 
my  life,  ere  many  years  I  will  cause  the  boy  that  driveth  the 
plough  to  know  more  of  the  Scriptures  than  you  do." 

Setting  about  their  work  in  this  spirit,  it  is  not  surprising  to 
find  that  the  Protestant  translators,  with  Luther  at  their  head, 
aimed  at  producing  a  version  which  should  give,  in  simple  language 
intelligible  to  all,  as  near  a  reproduction  of  the  original  texts  as 
the  genius  of  modern  tongues  and  their  own  scholarship  and 
natural  gifts  would  allow.  The  current  Latin  version  known  as 
the  Vulgate,  excellent  in  many  respects,  partook  too  much  of  the 
nature  of  a  paraphrase.  The  Reformers,  with  stricter  notions  of 
a  translator's  duty,  held  themselves  for  the  most  part  bound  to 
reproduce  even  the  obscurity  of  the  original,  justly  conceiving  that 
the  task  of  explanation  or  paraphrase  is  one  that  should  fall  upon 
the  commentator.  In  this  they  were  generally  agreed,  though 
some  allowed  themselves  greater  license  than  others.  On  another 
score  more  room  was  left  for  difference.  There  were  many 
vernacular  terms,  which  had  originally  reproduced  with  sufficient 
accuracy  the  meaning  of  words  used  in  the  sacred  writings,  but 
which  in  the  course  of  time  had  become  overlaid  with  an  artificial 
significance  derived  from  the  special  use  made  of  them  in  the 
practice  of  the  Church.  Thus  had  been  constituted  a  theological 
vocabular>^,  pregnant  with  the  germs  of  controversy,  and  it  was  a 
matter  of  difficulty  for  a  translator  to  steer  between  innovations 
sure  to  be  branded  as  pedantic,  and  current  terms  burdened  with  a 
world  of  meaning  beyond  the  simple  idea  of  the  original.  When 
the  Church  began  to  realise  the  impracticability  of  absolutely 
prohibiting  translations,  it  endeavoured  to  appropriate  the  newly- 
opened  ground  by  sprinkling  it  with  words  coined  in  its  own  rich 
mint.  Sir  Thomas  More  proceeded  on  this  line  in  his  attack  on 
Tyndale.  Why,  he  asked,  had  the  translator  used  the  word 
congregation  instead  of  church,  elder  for  priest,  love  for  charity, 


204  ENGLISH  PROSE 


favour  for  grace,  knowledge  for  confession,  and  repentance  for 
penance  ?  Bishop  Gardiner  was  for  retaining  in  an  authorised 
version  nearly  a  hundred  Latin  terms  taken  straight  from  the 
Vulgate,  such  as  ecclesta,  adorare,  opera,  episcopus.  Between 
Tyndale  and  Gardiner  there  was  scope  for  a  considerable 
oscillation  of  opinion  ;  and  the  final  success  of  the  version  of  King 
James  was  in  some  degree  due  to  the  inconsistency  with  which  it 
admitted  various  renderings  for  the  same  original  word.  Cover- 
dale  was  less  uncompromising  than  Tyndale.  "  Be  not  thou 
offended,  good  reader,"  he  says,  "  though  one  call  a  scribe  that 
another  calleth  a  lawyer,  or  ciders  that  another  calleth  ytz//;i?r  and 
mother,  or  repentance  that  another  calleth  penance  or  amendment." 

Speaking  generally,  it  may  be  said  that  Tyndale's  example 
secured  for  our  version  the  qualities  of  strength  and  accuracy, 
while  its  grace  is  due  to  Coverdale.  The  chief  literary  gift  of  the 
atter  was  his  command  of  a  flowing  and  musical  style.  His  ser- 
vices as  a  translator  cannot  be  compared  with  those  of  Tyndale, 
because  he  did  not  work  from  the  original.  It  is  said  that 
three  of  Tyndale's  renderings  have  survived  for  each  one  of  Cover- 
dale's.  The  task  which  Coverdale  successfully  achieved  was  to 
introduce  into  the  English  Bible  that  sweetness  and  melody,  never 
afterwards  lost — ^"  the  true  concord  of  well -tuned  sounds" — to 
which  it  owes  so  much  of  its  subtle  and  evanescent  charm  of  style. 
The  Prayer  Book  Psalter,  taken  from  the  Great  Bible  which  he 
edited,  has  been  retained  in  the  English  Church  service  simply 
because  it  was  found  "  more  smooth  and  fit  for  song "  than 
other  versions.  It  is  curious  to  note  that  Coverdale's  style  is  less 
harmonious  in  his  original  writings  than  in  his  translations  :  his 
disposition  was  of  the  generous  sort  that  delights  in  the  embellish- 
ment of  other  men's  work. 

It  was  the  ambition  of  the  Bible  translators  to  provide  material 
which  (in  Coverdale's  words)  would  give  better  occupation  than  the 
singing  of  "  hey  nony  nony,  hey  troly  loly,  and  such  like  phantasies." 
They  succeeded  even  beyond  their  hopes.  History  records  no 
more  remarkable  process  of  absorption  and  substitution  than  that 
by  which  the  national  heroes  of  our  old  hallads,  and  the  multi- 
farious folk-lore  inherited  from  primeval  Teutonic  heathenism, 
have  made  way  for  the  alien  but  powerfully  attractive  figures  and 
mysteries  of  Hebrew  tradition. 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  BIBLE 

MILES   COVERDALE   TO   THE   CHRISTIAN    READER 

Considering  how  excellent  knowledge  and  learning  an  interpreter 
of  Scripture  ought  to  have  in  the  tongues,  and  pondering  also  my 
own  insufficiency  therein,  and  how  weak  I  am  to  perform  the  office 
of  a  translator,  I  was  the  more  loath  to  meddle  with  this  work. 
Notwithstanding,  when  I  considered  how  great  pity  it  was  that  we 
should  want  it  so  long,  and  called  to  my  remembrance  the  adver- 
sity of  them  which  were  not  only  of  ripe  knowledge,  but  would 
also  with  all  their  hearts  have  performed  that  they  began,  if  they 
had  not  had  impediment  :  considering,  I  say,  that  by  reason  of 
their  adversity  it  could  not  so  soon  have  been  brought  to  an  end, 
as  our  most  prosperous  nation  would  fain  have  had  it  :  these  and 
other  reasonable  causes  considered,  I  was  the  more  bold  to  take 
it  in  hand.  And  to  help  me  herein,  I  have  had  sundry  translations, 
not  only  in  Latin,  but  also  of  the  Dutch  interpreters,  whom,  because 
of  their  singular  gifts  and  special  diligence  in  the  Bible,  I  have 
been  the  more  glad  to  follow  for  the  most  part,  according  as  I  was 
required.  But,  to  say  the  truth  before  God,  it  was  neither  my 
labour  nor  desire  to  have  this  work  put  in  my  hand  :  nevertheless 
it  grieved  me  that  other  nations  should  be  more  plenteously 
provided  for  with  the  Scripture  in  their  mother  tongue,  than  we  : 
therefore,  when  I  was  instantly  required,  though  I  could  not  do  so 
well  as  I  would,  I  thought  it  yet  my  duty  to  do  my  best,  and  that 
with  a  good  will. 

Whereas  some  men  think  now  that  many  translations  make 
division  in  the  faith  and  in  the  people  of  God,  that  is  not  so  :  for 
it  was  never  better  with  the  congregation  of  God,  than  when  every 
church  had  the  Bible  of  a  sundry  translation.  Among  the  Greeks 
had  not  Origen  a  special  translation  ?  Had  not  Vulgarius  one 
peculiar,  and  likewise  Chrysostom  ?  Beside  the  seventy  inter- 
205 


2o6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


preters,  is  there  not  the  translation  of  Aquila,  of  Theodotio,  of 
Symmachus,  and  of  sundry  other?  Again,  among  the  Latin  men, 
thou  findest  that  every  one  almost  used  a  special  and  sundry 
translation  ;  for  insomuch  as  every  bishop  had  the  knowledge  of 
the  tongues,  he  gave  his  diligence  to  have  the  Bible  of  his  own 
translation.  The  doctors,  as  Hirenaeus,  Cyprianus,  Tertullian, 
St.  Hierome,  St.  Augustine,  Hilarius,  and  St.  Ambrose,  upon 
divers  places  of  the  Scripture,  read  not  the  text  all  alike. 

Therefore  ought  it  not  to  be  taken  as  evil,  that  such  men  as 
have  understanding  now  in  our  time,  exercise  themselves  in  the 
tongues,  and  give  their  diligence  to  translate  out  of  one  language 
into  another.  Yea,  we  ought  rather  to  give  God  high  thanks 
therefore,  which  through  his  Spirit  stirreth  up  men's  minds  so  to 
exercise  themselves  therein.  Would  God  it  had  never  been  left 
off  after  the  time  of  St.  Augustine  !  Then  should  we  never  have 
come  into  such  blindness  and  ignorance,  into  such  errors  and 
delusions.  For  as  soon  as  the  Bible  was  cast  aside,  and  no  more 
put  in  exercise,  then  began  every  one  of  his  own  head  to  write 
whatsoever  came  into  his  brain,  and  that  seemed  to  be  good  in  his 
own  eyes  :  and  so  grew  the  darkness  of  men's  traditions.  And 
this  same  is  the  cause  that  we  have  had  so  many  writers,  which 
seldom  made  mention  of  the  Scripture  of  the  Bible  :  and  though 
they  sometimes  alleged  it,  yet  was  it  done  so  far  out  of  season, 
and  so  wide  from  the  purpose,  that  a  man  may  well  perceive  how 
that  they  never  saw  the  original. 

Seeing  then  that  this  diligent  exercise  of  translating  doth  so 
much  good  and  edifieth  in  other  languages,  why  should  it  do  evil 
in  ours  ?  Doubtless  like  as  all  nations  in  the  diversity  of  speeches 
niay  know  one  God  in  the  unity  of  faith,  and  be  one  in  love  :  even 
so  may  divers  translations  understand  one  another,  and  that  in 
the  head  articles  and  ground  of  our  most  blessed  faith,  though 
they  use  sundry  words.  Wherefore  methink  we  have  great 
occasion  to  give  thanks  unto  God,  that  he  hath  opened  unto  his 
church  the  gift  of  interpretation  and  of  printing,  and  that  there  are 
now  at  this  time  so  many,  which  with  such  diligence  and  faithful- 
ness interpret  the  Scripture,  to  the  honour  of  God,  and  edifying 
of  his  people  :  whereas  like  as  when  many  are  shooting  together, 
every  one  does  his  best  to  be  nighest  the  mark,  and  though  they 
cannot  all  attain  thereto,  yet  shooteth  one  nigher  than  another  : 
yea,  one  can  do  it  better  than  another.  Who  is  now  then  so 
unreasonable,  so  despiteful,  or  envious,  as  to  abhor  him  that  doth 


COVE RD ALE  AND  EARLY  BIBLE  TRANSLATIONS     207 


all  his  diligence  to  hit  the  prick,  and  to  shoot  nighest  it,  though 
he  miss  and  come  not  nighest  the  mark  ?  Ought  not  such  one 
rather  to  be  commended,  and  to  be  helped  forward,  that  he  may 
exercise  himself  the  more  therein  ?  Yox  the  which  cause,  according 
as  I  was  desired,  I  took  the  more  upon  me  to  set  forth  this  special 
translation,  not  as  a  checker,  not  as  a  reprover,  or  despiser  of 
other  men's  translations  (for  among  many  as  yet  I  have  found 
none  without  occasion  of  great  thanksgiving  unto  God)  but  lowly 
and  faithfully  have  I  followed  mine  interpreters,  and  that  under 
correction  :  and  though  I  have  failed  anywhere  (as  there  is  no  man 
but  he  misseth  in  some  thing)  love  shall  construe  all  to  the  best, 
without  any  perverse  judgment. 

Now  whereas  the  most  famous  interpreters  of  all  give  sundry 
judgments  of  the  text :  so  far  as  it  is  done  by  the  spirit  of  know- 
ledge in  the  Holy  Ghost,  methink  no  man  should  be  offended 
thereat,  for  they  refer  their  doings  in  meekness  to  jhe  spirit  of 
truth  in  the  congregation  of  God  :  and  sure  I  am,  that  there 
Cometh  more  knowledge  and  understanding  of  Scripture  by  their 
sundry  translations,  than  by  all  the  glosses  of  our  sophistical 
doctors.  For  that  one  interpreteth  something  obscurely  in  one 
place,  the  same  translateth  another,  or  else  he  himself,  more 
manifestly  by  a  more  plain  vocable  of  the  same  meaning  in  another 
place.  Be  not  thou  offended,  therefore,  good  reader,  though  one 
call  a  scribe  that  another  calleth  a  lawyer :  or  elders,  that  another 
calleth  father  and  mother :  or  repentance,  that  another  calleth 
penance  or  amendment.  For  if  thou  be  not  deceived  by  men's 
traditions,  thou  shalt  find  no  more  diversity  between  these  terms, 
than  between  foiirpettce  and  a  groat.  And  this  manner  have  I 
used  in  my  translation,  calling  it  in  some  place  peftance,  that  in 
another  place  I  call  repentance  ;  and  that  not  only  because  the 
interpreters  have  done  so  before  me,  but  that  the  adversaries  of 
the  truth  may  see,  how  that  we  abhor  not  this  word  penance,  as 
they  untruly  report  of  us,  no  more  than  the  interpreters  of  Latin 
abhor  pa;nitere,  when  they  read  resipiscere.  Only  our  heart's 
desire  unto  God  is,  that  His  people  be  not  blinded  in  their  under- 
standing, lest  they  believe  penance  to  be  aught  save  a  very 
repentance,  amendment,  or  conversion  unto  God,  and  to  be  an 
unfeigned  new  creature  in  Christ,  and  to  live  according  to  his  law. 
For  else  shall  they  fall  into  the  old  blasphemy  of  Christ's  blood, 
and  believe  that  they  themselves  are  able  to  make  satisfaction 


2o8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


unto  God  for  their  own  sins  :  from  the  which  error,  God  of  His 
mercy  and  plenteous  goodness,  preserve  all  His  ! 

Now  to  conclude  :  forsomuch  as  all  the  Scripture  is  written  for 
thy  doctrine  and  ensample,  it  shall  be  necessary  for  thee  to  take 
hold  upon  it  while  it  is  offered  thee,  yea,  and  with  ten  hands 
thankfully  to  receive  it.  And  though  it  be  not  worthily  ministered 
unto  thee  in  this  translation,  by  reason  of  my  rudeness  ;  yet  if 
thou  be  fervent  in  thy  prayer,  God  shall  not  only  send  it  thee  in 
a  better  shape  by  the  ministration  of  other  that  began  it  afore, 
but  shall  also  move  the  hearts  of  them  which  as  yet  meddled  not 
withal,  to  take  it  in  hand,  and  to  bestow  the  gift  of  their  under- 
standing thereon,  as  well  in  our  language,  as  other  famous  inter- 
preters do  in  other  languages.  And  I  pray  God,  that  through 
my  poor  ministration  herein  I  may  give  them  that  can  do  better 
some  occasion  so  to  do  ;  exhorting  thee,  most  dear  reader,  in  the 
mean  while  on  God's  behalf,  if  thou  be  a  head,  a  judge,  or  ruler 
of  the  people,  that  thou  let  not  the  book  of  this  law  depart  out  of 
thy  mouth,  but  exercise  thyself  therein  both  day  and  night,  and 
be  ever  reading  in  it  as  long  as  thou  livest :  that  thou  mayest 
learn  to  fear  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  not  to  turn  aside  from  the 
commandment,  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left ;  lest 
thou  be  a  knower  of  persons  in  judgment,  and  wrest  the  right  of 
the  stranger,  of  the  fatherless,  or  of  the  widow,  and  so  the  curse 
to  come  upon  thee.  But  what  office  so  ever  thou  hast,  wait  upon 
it,  and  execute  it  to  the  maintenance  of  peace,  to  the  wealth  of 
thy  people,  defending  the  laws  of  God  and  the  lovers  thereof, 
and  to  the  destruction  of  the  wicked. 

If  thou  be  a  preacher,  and  hast  the  oversight  of  the  flock  of 
Christ,  awake  and  feed  Christ's  sheep  with  a  good  heart,  and 
spare  no  labour  to  do  them  good  :  seek  not  thyself,  and  beware 
of  filthy  lucre  ;  but  be  unto  the  flock  an  ensample  in  the  word,  in 
conversation,  in  love,  in  ferventness  of  the  spirit,  and  be  ever 
reading,  exhorting,  and  teaching  in  God's  Word,  that  the  people 
of  God  run  not  unto  other  doctrines,  and  lest  thou  thyself,  when 
thou  shouldest  teach  other,  be  found  ignorant  therein.  And 
rather  than  thou  wouldest  teach  the  people  any  other  thing  than 
God's  Word,  take  the  book  in  thine  hand,  and  read  the  words, 
even  as  they  stand  therein  ;  for  it  is  no  shame  so  to  do,  it  is  more 
shame  to  make  a  lie.  This  I  say  for  such  as  are  not  yet  expert 
in  the  Scripture  ;  for  I  reprove  no  preaching  without  the  book,  as 
long  as  they  say  the  truth. 


COVERDALE  AND  EARLY  BIBLE  TRANSLATIONS     209 

If  thou  be  a  man  that  hast  wife  and  children,  first  love  thy 
wife,  according  to  the  ensample  of  the  love  wherewith  Christ 
loved  the  congregation  ;  and  remember  that  so  doing  thou  lovest 
even  thyself:  if  thou  hate  her,  thou  hatest  thine  own  flesh;  if 
thou  cherish  her  and  make  much  of  her,  thou  cherishest  and 
makest  much  of  thyself ;  for  she  is  bone  of  thy  bones,  and  flesh 
of  thy  flesh.  And  whosoever  thou  be  that  hast  children,  bring 
them  up  in  the  nurture  and  information  of  the  Lord.  And  if 
thou  be  ignorant,  or  art  otherwise  occupied  lawfully,  that  thou 
canst  not  teach  them  thyself,  then  be  even  as  diligent  to  seek  a 
good  master  for  thy  children,  as  thou  wast  to  seek  a  mother  to 
bear  them  ;  for  there  lieth  as  great  weight  in  the  one  as  in  the 
other.  Yea,  better  it  were  for  them  to  be  unborn,  than  not  to 
fear  God,  or  to  be  evil  brought  up  :  which  thing  (I  mean  bringing 
up  well  of  children),  if  it  be  diligently  looked  to,  it  is  the  upholding 
of  all  commonwealths  ;  and  the  negligence  of  the  same,  the  very 
decay  of  all  realms. 

Finally,  whosoever  thou  be,  take  these  words  of  Scripture  into 
thy  heart,  and  be  not  only  an  outward  hearer,  but  a  doer  there- 
after, and  practise  thyself  therein  ;  that  thou  mayest  feel  in  thine 
heart  the  sweet  promises  thereof  for  thy  consolation  in  all  trouble, 
and  for  the  sure  stablishing  of  thy  hope  in  Christ  ;  and  have  ever 
an  eye  to  the  words  of  Scripture,  that  if  thou  be  a  teacher  of 
other,  thou  mayest  be  within  the  bounds  of  the  truth  ;  or  at  the 
least,  though  thou  be  but  an  hearer  or  reader  of  another  man's 
doings,  thou  mayest  yet  have  knowledge  to  judge  all  spirits  and 
be  free  from  every  error,  to  the  utter  destruction  of  all  seditious 
sects  and  strange  doctrines  ;  that  the  holy  Scripture  may  have 
free  passage,  and  be  had  in  reputation,  to  the  worship  of  the 
author  thereof,  which  is  even  God  Himself;  to  w-hom  for  His 
most  blessed  Word  be  glory  and  dominion  now  and  ever  !    Amen. 


VOL.  I. 


THOMAS  CRANMER 


[Thomas  Cranmer,  the  first  Protestant  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  one 
of  the  most  illustrious  of  English  churchmen,  was  born  at  Aslacton  in  Notting- 
hamshire, 2nd  July  1489.  After  receiving  the  rudiments  of  his  education  at  the 
Grammar  School  of  his  native  village,  he  matriculated  at  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  in  1503.  Of  this  College  he  subsequently  became  Fellow,  and  a 
resident  Fellow  he  remained,  except  for  the  brief  interval  of  a  year,  during 
which  he  married  and  lost  his  wife,  for  some  sixteen  years.  In  1523  he  took 
the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity,  and  read  the  theological  lecture  at  his  college. 
In  1529  an  accident  introduced  him  to  the  notice  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  his 
introduction  to  the  king  initiated  that  part  of  his  life  which  belongs  to  history. 
He  was  made  one  of  the  Commissioners  appointed  from  the  Universities  to 
determine  the  question  of  the  Divorce  of  Henry  from  Catharine  of  Arragon, 
against  the  Pope's  dispensation.  In  this  capacity  he  was  sent  as  ambassador 
to  the  Court  of  Rome,  and  in  the  following  year  to  the  Court  of  Charles  V. 
(January  1530-1).  Having  already  been  promoted  to  the  Archdeaconry  of 
Taunton  and  been  made  one  of  the  King's  Chaplains,  he  was  elected,  on 
the  death  of  Warham,  23rd  .-Vugust  1532,  to  the  See  of  Canterbury,  being 
consecrated  Archbishop,  30th  March  1533.  Between  that  date  and  the  date 
of  his  martyrdom  at  O.xford,  21st  March  1556,  his  biography  is  little  less  than 
the  history  of  the  Reformation  in  England  at  its  most  critical  period.  The 
works  of  Cranmer  are  somewhat  voluminous,  consisting  of  controversial 
treatises  both  in  Latin  and  English,  of  speeches  delivered  before  Convocation 
or  in  the  House  of  Lords,  of  state  papers  relating  to  ecclesiastical  matters,  of 
letters,  of  prefaces,  and  of  homilies  and  sermons.  Of  his  controversial 
treatises,  which  are  of  no  interest  now,  the  most  important  are  :  An  Answer 
unto  a  Crafty  and  Sophistical  Cavillation  devised  by  Stephen  Gardiner  against 
the  True  and  Godly  Doctrine  of  the  Most  Holy  Sacrament  of  the  Body  and  Blood 
of  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  in  five  books.  The  Ansiver  of  Thomas,  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  against  the  False  Calumniations  of  Doctor  Richard  Smith. 
Both  of  these  works  are  contributions  to  the  Eucharistic  controversy.  The 
treatise  entitled  A  Confutation  of  Umvritten  I'erities  appears  to  have  been  a 
compilation  derived  from  materials  furnished  by  Cranmer  ;  it  appeared  many 
years  after  his  death.  The  most  interesting  of  Cranmer's  writings  are  his  Short 
Instruction  into  Christian  Religion,  translated  from  Justin  Jonas,  his  Preface 
to  the  Bible  of  1540,  his  Preface  to  the  Common  Prayer  Book  of  1549,  the 
three  homihes  Of  Salvation,  Of  the  True,  Lively,  and  Christian  Faith,  and  Of 
Good   Works,  which  are  no  doubt  rightly  ascribed  to  him  ;  to  these  may  be 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


added,  though  more  doubtfully,  A  Sermon  on  Rebellion.  The  complete  works 
of  Cranmer  have  been  collected  and  edited  in  four  volumes  by  the  Rev.  Henry 
Jenkyns,  and  also  by  the  Rev.  John  Edmund  Cox  for  the  Parker  Society,  in 
two  volumes.] 

Among  the  classics  of  English  prose  literature  a  prominent  place 
must  be  assigned  to  Cranmer.  It  is  not  merely  the  writings 
which  appear  under  his  name  in  his  collected  works  that  we  have 
to  consider  in  estimating  his  genius  and  his  influence  as  a  master 
of  style.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  greater  portion  of 
the  addresses.,  collects,  and  prayers  in  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  of  i  549  either  came  from  his  pen  or  were  carefully  revised 
by  him.  And  to  say  that  the  style  and  diction  of  those  com- 
positions have  in  point  of  purity,  dignity,  and  sweetness  never 
been  surpassed,  and  that  in  charm  of  rhythmic  harmony  and 
expression  they  never  can  be  surpassed,  is  to  say  what  everyone 
will  acknowledge.  "  As  the  translation  of  the  Bible,"  says  Mr. 
Froude,  "  bears  upon  it  the  imprint  of  the  mind  of  Tyndale,  so, 
while  the  Church  of  England  remains,  the  image  of  Cranmer  will 
be  seen  reflected  on  the  calm  surface  of  the  liturgy.  The  most 
beautiful  portions  of  it  are  translations  from  the  Breviary  :  yet  the 
same  prayers  translated  by  others  would  not  be  chose  which  chime 
like  Church  bells  in  the  ears  of  the  English  child.  The  transla- 
tions, and  the  addresses,  which  are  original,  have  the  same  silvery 
melody  of  language,  and  breathe  the  same  simplicity  of  spirit." 
What  Mr.  Froude  describes  as  "  silvery  melody  of  language  "  is 
the  leading  and  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Cranmer's  prose. 
Cicero  himself  had  not  a  nicer  and  more  exquisite  ear  for  rhythm, 
for  the  rhythm  of  prose  as  distinguished  from  the  rhythm  of 
poetry.  Cranmer's  sentences  are  not  like  those  of  Hooker  and  the 
Elizabethan  rhetoricians  framed  on  the  Latin  model,  and  his  music 
is  not  the  music  of  the  Ciceronian  period.  But  as  Cicero  modified 
the  harmony  of  Isocrates  to  suit  the  genius  of  the  Latin  language, 
so  Cranmer  modified  the  harmony  of  Ciceronian  rhetoric  to  suit 
the  genius  of  our  vernacular.  He  adjusted  with  exquisite  tact 
and  skill  the  Saxon  and  Latin  elements  in  our  language  both  in 
the  service  of  rhythm  and  in  the  service  of  expression.  He  saw 
that  the  power  of  the  first  lay  in  terseness  and  sweetness,  the 
power  of  the  second  in  massiveness  and  dignity,  and  that  he  who 
could  succeed  in  tempering  artfully  and  with  propriety  the  one  by 
the  other,  would  be  in  the  possession  of  an  instrument  which 
Isocrates   and   Cicero  might   envy.     He   saw  too   the   immense 


THOMAS  CRANMER  213 

advantage  which  the  co-existence  of  these  elements  afforded  for 
rhetorical  emphasis.  And  this  accounts  for  one  of  the  distinctive 
features  of  the  diction  of  our  liturgy,  the  habitual  association  of 
Saxon  words  with  their  Latin  synonyms  for  purposes  of  rhetorical 
emphasis. 

It  would  be  perilous  to  assert  that  Cranmer  was  the  creator  of 
our  liturgic  diction.  "  The  book,"  as  Mr.  Blunt  admirably  puts 
it,  "  is  not  identified  with  any  one  name,  but  is  the  work  of  the 
Church  of  England  by  its  authorized  agents  and  representatives, 
and  as  we  reverence  the  architects  of  some  great  Cathedral,  for 
their  work's  sake  without  perhaps  knowing  the  name  of  any  one 
of  them,  or  the  portions  which  each  one  designed,  so  we  look  upon 
the  works  of  those  who  gave  us  our  first  English  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  admiring  its  fair  proportions  and  the  skill  which  put  it 
together,  and  caring  but  little  to  inquire  whose  was  the  hand  that 
traced  this  or  that  particular  compartment  of  the  whole."  But 
when  we  compare  the  style  of  Cranmer's  acknowledged  writings 
with  that  of  his  contemporaries  or  immediate  predecessors, — with 
the  style,  for  example,  of  More,  of  Tyndale,  of  Hooper,  of  Ridley, 
of  Miles  Coverdale,  of  Latimer,  or  with  that  of  any  of  those 
associated  with  the  numerous  translations  of  the  Bible,  and  the 
composition  of  the  Homilies,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck 
with  its  distinctness.  We  feel  almost  certain  that  he  must  have 
stood  in  pretty  much  the  same  relation  to  the  liturgy  of  1549  as 
Pope  stood  to  the  translation  of  the  Odyssey,  and  that  his 
coadjutors  caught  his  note  and  were  as  completely  under  his 
dominion  and  influence  as  director  and  reviser,  as  Broome  and 
Fenton  were  under  the  dominion  and  influence  of  Pope. 

Of  the  characteristics  of  Cranmer's  style  we  have  already 
spoken,  but  its  dominant,  distinguishing,  and  essential  quality  is 
its  "silvery  melody."  And  this  silvery  melody  has  "chimed  like 
church  bells"  not  in  the  ears  "of  the  English  child"  only,  but 
generation  after  generation  in  the  ears  of  many  of  the  greatest 
masters  of  prose  expression  in  our  language.  We  have  the  note 
of  Cranmer  vibrating  in  the  prose  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  when  that 
prose  is  at  its  best,  in  such  a  sentence  as  this,  for  example — 

"  Can  a  man  bind  a  thought  in  chains  or  carry  imaginations  in 
the  palm  of  his  hand  .?  Can  the  beauty  of  the  peacock's  train  or 
of  the  ostrich  plume  be  delicious  to  the  palate  and  the  throat  ? 
does  the  hand  intermeddle  with  the  joys  of  the  heart  ?  or  darkness 
that  hides  the  naked,  make  him  warm  ?  " 


214  ENGLISH  PROSE 


That  is  Cranmers  note.  It  vibrates  also  in  the  prose  of 
De  Quincey,  in  the  prose  of  Cardinal  Newman,  in  the  prose  of 
Mr.  Froude  and  of  Mr.  Ruskin.  It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted 
that  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  Cranmer's  acknowledged  writings 
should  be  devoted  to  subjects  which  have  long  ceased  to  interest, 
being  almost  entirely  either  controversial  or  epexegetical.  We 
have  endeavoured  in  the  extracts  selected,  to  illustrate  it  on  as 
many  sides  as  possible,  and  so  we  have  given  specimens  from  his 
polemical  writings  as  well  as  from  his  correspondence. 


J.  Churton  Collins. 


THE  USES  OF  HOLY  SCRIPTURE 

They  that  be  free  and  far  from  trouble  and  intermeddling  of 
worldly  things,  liveth  in  safeguard,  and  tranquillity,  and  in  the 
calm,  or  within  a  sure  haven.  Thou  art  in  the  midst  of  the 
sea  of  worldly  wickedness,  and  therefore  thou  needest  the  more  of 
ghostly  succour  and  comfort  :  they  sit  far  from  the  strokes  of 
battle,  and  far  out  of  gunshot,  and  therefore  they  be  but  seldom 
wounded  :  thou  that  standest  in  the  forefront  of  the  host  and 
nighest  to  thine  enemies,  must  needs  take  now  and  then  many 
strokes,  and  be  grievously  wounded.  And  therefore  thou  hast 
more  need  to  have  thy  remedies  and  medicines  at  hand.  Thy 
wife  provoketh  thee  to  anger,  thy  child  giveth  thee  occasion  to 
take  sorrow  and  pensiveness,  thine  enemies  lieth  in  wait  for  thee, 
thy  friend  (as  thou  takest  him)  sometime  envieth  thee,  thy  neigh- 
bour misreporteth  thee,  or  pricketh  quarrels  against  thee,  thy  mate 
or  partner  undermineth  thee,  thy  lord  judge  or  justice  threateneth 
thee,  poverty  is  painful  unto  thee,  the  loss  of  thy  dear  and  well- 
beloved  causeth  thee  to  mourn  ;  prosperity  exalteth  thee,  adversity 
bringeth  thee  low.  Briefly,  so  divers  and  so  manifold  occasions 
of  cares,  tribulations,  and  temptations  besetteth  thee  and  besiegeth 
thee  round  about.  Where  canst  thou  have  armour  or  fortress 
against  thine  assaults  ?  Where  canst  thou  have  salve  for  thy 
sores,  but  of  holy  scripture  ?  Thy  flesh  must  needs  be  prone  and 
subject  to  fleshy  lusts,  which  daily  walkest  and  art  conversant 
amongst  women,  seest  their  beauties  set  forth  to  the  eye,  hearest 
their  nice  and  wanton  words,  smellest  their  balm,  civit,  and  musk, 
with  other  like  provocations  and  stirrings,  except  thou  hast  in  a 
readiness  wherewith  to  suppress  and  avoid  them,  which  cannot 
elsewhere  be  had,  but  only  out  of  the  holy  scriptures.  Let  us  read 
and  seek  all  remedies  that  we  can,  and  all  shall  be  little  enough. 
How  shall  we  then  do,  if  we  suffer  and  take  daily  wounds,  and 
when  we  have  done,  will  sit  still  and  search  for  no  medicines  ? 

"5 


2i6  ENGLISH  PROSE 

Dost  thou  not  mark  and  consider  how  the  smith,  mason,  or  car- 
penter, or  any  other  handy-craftsman,  what  need  soever  he  be  in, 
what  other  shift  soever  he  make,  he  will  not  sell  or  lay  to  pledge 
the  tools  of  his  occupation  ;  for  then  how  should  he  work  his  feat, 
or  get  a  living  thereby  ?  Of  like  mind  and  affection  ought  we  to 
be  towards  holy  scripture  ;  for  as  mallets,  hammers,  saws,  chisels, 
axes  and  hatchets,  be  the  tools  of  their  occupation,  so  be  the  books 
of  the  prophets  and  apostles,  and  all  holy  writ  inspired  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  the  instruments  of  our  salvation.  Wherefore,  let  us 
not  stick  to  buy  and  provide  us  the  bible,  that  is  to  say,  the  books 
of  holy  scripture.  And  let  us  think  that  to  be  a  better  jewel  in 
our  house  than  either  gold  or  silver.  For  like  as  thieves  be  loth 
to  assault  an  house  where  they  know  to  be  good  armour  and 
artillery  ;  so  wheresoever  these  holy  and  ghostly  books  be  occupied, 
there  neither  the  devil  nor  none  of  his  angels  dare  come  near. 
And  they  that  occupy  them  be  in  much  safeguard,  and  having 
great  consolation,  and  be  the  readier  unto  all  goodness,  the  slower 
to  all  evil  ;  and  if  they  have  done  anything  amiss,  anon,  even  by  the 
sight  of  the  books,  their  consciences  be  admonished,  and  they  wax 
sorry  and  ashamed  of  the  fact. 

(From  the  Preface  to  the  Bible.) 


FAITH  AND  WORKS 

♦  As  a  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself,'  saith  our  Saviour  Christ, 
'  except  it  abide  in  the  vine,  so  cannot  you  except  you  abide  in  me. 
I  am  the  vine,  and  you  be  the  branches  :  he  that  abideth  in  me, 
and  I  in  him,  he  bringeth  forth  much  fruit :  for  without  me  you 
can  do  nothing.'  And  St.  Paul  proveth  that  Enoch  had  faith,  be- 
cause he  pleased  God  :  '  For  without  faith,'  saith  he,  '  it  is  not 
possible  to  please  God.'  And  again,  to  the  Romans  he  saith  : 
'  Whatsoever  work  is  done  without  faith,  it  is  sin.'  Faith  giveth 
life  to  the  soul  ;  and  they  be  as  much  dead  to  God  that  lack  faith, 
as  they  be  to  the  world  whose  bodies  lack  souls.  Without  faith 
all  that  is  done  of  us  is  but  dead  before  God,  although  the  work 
seem  never  so  gay  and  glorious  before  man.  Even  as  a  picture 
graven  or  painted  is  but  a  dead  representation  of  the  thing  itself, 
and  is  without  life,  or  any  manner  of  moving  ;  so  be  the  works  of 
all  unfaithful  persons  before  God.     They  do  appear  to  be  lively 


THOMAS  CRANMER  217 

works,  and  indeed  they  be  but  dead,  not  availing  to  the  eternal 
life.  They  be  but  shadows  and  shews  of  lively  and  good  things, 
and  not  good  and  lively  things  indeed  ;  for  true  faith  doth  give  life 
to  the  works,  and  out  of  such  faith  come  good  works,  that  be  very 
good  works  indeed  ;  and  without  it  no  work  is  good  before  God. 

As  saith  St.  Augustine  :  '  we  must  set  no  good  works  before 
faith,  nor  think  that  without  faith  a  man  may  do  any  good  work  ; 
for  such  works,  although  they  seem  unto  men  to  be  praise-worthy, 
yet  indeed  they  be  but  vain,  and  not  allowed  before  God.  They 
be  as  the  course  of  a  horse  that  runneth  out  of  the  way,  which 
taketh  great  labour,  but  to  no  purpose.  Let  no  man,  therefore,' 
saith  he,'  '  reckon  upon  his  good  works  before  his  faith  ;  where  as 
faith  was  not,  good  works  were  not.  The  intent,'  saith  he, 
'  maketh  the  good  works  ;  but  faith  must  guide  and  order  the  in- 
tent of  man.'  And  Christ  saith  :  '  If  thine  eye  be  naught,'  thy 
whole  body  is  full  of  darkness.'  '  The  eye  doth  signify  the  intent,' 
saith  St.  Augustine,  '  wherewith  a  man  doth  a  thing  ;  so  that  he 
which  doth  not  his  good  works  with  a  godly  intent,  and  a  true  faith 
that  worketh  by  love,  the  whole  body  beside,  that  is  to  say,  all 
the  whole  number  of  his  works,  is  dark,  and  there  is  no  light  in 
it.'  For  good  deeds  be  not  measured  by  the  facts  themselves, 
and  so  dissevered  from  vices,  but  by  the  ends  and  intents  for 
the  which  they  be  done.  If  a  heathen  man  clothe  the  naked, 
feed  the  hungry,  and  do  such  other  like  works  ;  yet  because  he 
doth  them  not  in  faith  for  the  honour  and  love  of  God,  they  be 
but  dead,  vain,  and  fruitless  works  to  him.  Faith  it  is  that  doth 
commend  the  work  to  God  ;  '  for,'  as  St.  Augustine  saith,  '  whether 
thou  wilt  or  no,  that  work  that  cometh  not  of  faith  is  naught  ; ' 
where  the  faith  of  Christ  is  not  the  foundation,  there  is  no  good 
work,  what  building  soever  we  make.  '  There  is  one  work,  in  the 
which  be  all  good  works,  that  is,  faith  which  worketh  by  charity  : ' 
if  thou  have  it,  thou  hast  the  ground  of  all  good  works  ;  for  the 
virtues  of  strength,  wisdom,  temperance,  and  justice,  be  all  referred 
unto  this  same  faith.  Without  this  faith  we  have  not  them,  but 
only  the  names  and  shadows  of  them,  as  St.  Augustine  saith  : 
'  All  the  life  of  them  that  lack  the  true  faith  is  sin  ;  and  nothing 
is  good  without  Him  that  is  the  author  of  goodness  :  where  He  is 
not,  there  is  but  feigned  virtue,  although  it  be  in  the  best  works.' 
And  St.  Augustine,  declaring  this  verse  of  the  psalm,  '  the  turtle 
hath  found  a  nest  where  she  may  keep  her  young  birds,'  saith,  that 
Jews,  heretics,  and  pagans  do  good  works  :  they  clothe  the  naked, 


2i8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


feed  the  poor,  and  do  other  good  works  of  mercy  ;  but  because 
they  be  not  done  in  the  true  faith,  therefore  the  birds  be  lost. 
But  if  they  remain  in  faith,  then  faith  is  the  nest  and  safeguard 
of  their  birds,  that  is  to  say,  safeguard  of  their  good  works,  that 
the  reward  of  them  be  not  utterly  lost. 

And  this  matter  (which  St.  Augustine  at  large  in  many  books 
disputeth)  St.  Ambrose  concludeth  in  few  words,  saying  ;  '  He 
that  by  nature  would  withstand  vice,  either  by  natural  will  or 
reason,  he  doth  in  vain  garnish  the  time  of  this  life,  and  attaineth 
not  the  very  true  virtues  ;  for  without  the  worshipping  of  the  true 
God  that  which  seemeth  to  be  virtue  is  vice. 

And  yet  most  plainly  to  this  purpose  writeth  St.  John  Chry- 
sostom  in  this  wise  :  '  You  shall  find  many  which  have  not  the 
true  faith,  and  l)e  not  of  the  flock  of  Christ,  and  yet  (as  it 
appeareth)  they  flourish  in  good  works  of  mercy  :  you  shall  find 
them  full  of  pity,  compassion,  and  given  to  justice  ;  and  yet  for  all 
that  they  have  no  fruit  of  their  works,  because  the  chief  work 
lacketh.  For  when  the  Jews  asked  of  Christ  what  they  should  do 
to  work  good  works,  he  answered  :  '  This  is  the  work  of  God,  to 
believe  in  him  whom  He  sent : '  so  that  he  called  faith  the  work  of 
God.  And  as  soon  as  a  man  hath  faith,  anon  he  shall  flourish  in 
good  works  ;  for  faith  of  itself  is  full  of  good  works,  and  nothing 
is  good  without  faith.'  And,  for  a  similitude,  he  saith,  that  '  they 
which  glister  and  shine  in  good  works  without  faith  in  God,  be 
like  dead  men,  which  have  goodly  and  precious  tombs,  and  yet  it 
availeth  them  nothing.  Faith  may  not  be  naked  without  works, 
for  then  it  is  no  true  faith  ;  and  when  it  is  adjoined  to  works,  yet 
it  is  above  the  works.  For  as  men,  that  be  very  men  indeed,  first 
have  life,  and  after  be  nourished  ;  so  must  our  faith  in  Christ  go 
before,  and  after  be  nourished  with  good  works.  And  life  may  be 
without  nourishment,  but  nourishment  cannot  be  without  life.  A 
man  must  needs  be  nourished  by  good  works,  but  first  he  must 
have  faith.  He  that  doth  good  deeds,  yet  without  faith,  he  hath 
not  life.  I  can  shew  a  man  that  by  faith  without  works  lived,  and 
came  to  heaven  :  but  without  faith  never  man  had  life.  The  thief 
that  was  hanged  when  Christ  suffered,  did  believe  only,  and  the 
most  merciful  God  did  justify  him.  And  because  no  man  shall 
object,  that  he  lacked  time  to  do  good  works,  for  else  he  would 
have  done  them  ;  truth  it  is  and  I  will  not  contend  therein  :  but 
this  I  will  surely  affirm,  that  faitli  only  saved  him.  If  he  had 
lived,  and  not  regarded  faith,  and   the  works  thereof,  he  should 


THOMAS  CRANMER  219 

have  lost  his  salvation  again.  But  this  is  the  effect  that  I  say, 
that  faith  by  itself  saved  him,  but  works  by  themselves  never 
justified  any  man.  Here  ye  have  heard  the  mind  of  St.  Chry- 
sostom,  whereby  you  may  perceive,  that  neither  faith  is  without 
works  (having  opportunity  thereto),  nor  works  can  avail  to  eternal 
life  without  faith. 

(From  the  Homily  of  Good  Works  annexed  unto  Faith.) 


THE  DANGERS   OF  FALSE   DOCTRINE 

These  injuries  to  Christ  be  so  intolerable,  that  no  christian  heart 
can  willingly  bear  them.  Wherefore,  seeing  that  many  have  set 
to  their  hands,  and  whetted  their  tools,  to  pluck  up  the  weeds,  and 
to  cut  down  the  tree  of  error,  I,  not  knowing  otherwise  how  to 
excuse  myself  at  the  last  day,  have  in  this  book  set  to  my  hand 
and  axe  with  the  rest,  to  cut  down  this  tree,  and  to  pluck  up  the 
weeds  and  plants  by  the  roots,  which  our  heavenly  Father  never 
planted,  but  were  grafted  and  sown  in  his  vineyard  by  his  adversary 
the  devil,  and  antichrist  his  minister.  The  Lord  grant  that  this  my 
travail  and  labour  in  his  vineyard  be  not  in  vain,  but  that  it  may 
prosper  and  bring  forth  good  fruits  to  his  honour  and  glory  !  For 
when  I  see  his  vineyard  overgrown  with  thorns,  brambles,  and 
weeds,  I  know  that  everlasting  woe  apperiaineth  unto  me,  if  I  hold 
my  peace,  and  put  not  to  my  hands  and  tongue  to  labour  in 
purging  his  vineyard.  God  I  take  to  witness,  who  seeth  the 
hearts  of  all  men  thoroughly  unto  the  bottom,  that  I  take  this 
labour  for  none  other  consideration,  but  for  the  glory  of  his  name, 
and  the  discharge  of  my  duty,  and  the  zeal  that  I  bear  toward  the 
flock  of  Christ.  I  know  in  what  office  God  hath  placed  me,  and 
to  what  purpose  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  set  forth  his  word  truly  unto 
his  people,  to  the  uttermost  of  my  power,  without  respect  of  per- 
son, or  regard  of  thing  in  the  world,  but  of  him  alone.  I  know 
what  account  I  shall  make  to  him  hereof  at  the  last  day,  when 
every  man  shall  answer  for  his  vocation,  and  receive  for  the  same 
good  or  ill,  according  as  he  hath  done.  I  know  how  antichrist  hath 
obscured  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  true  knowledge  of  his  word, 
overcasting  the  same  with  mists  and  clouds  of  error  and  ignorance 
through  false  glosses  and  interpretations.  It  pitieth  me  to  see  the 
simple  and  hungry  flock  of  Christ  led  into  corrupt  pastures,  to  be 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


carried  blindfold  they  know  not  whither,  and  to  be  fed  with  poison 
in  the  stead  of  wholesome  meats.  And  moved  by  the  duty,  office, 
and  place,  whereunto  it  hath  pleased  God  to  call  me,  I  give  warning 
in  His  name  unto  all  that  profess  Christ,  that  they  flee  far  from 
Babylon  if  they  will  save  their  souls,  and  to  beware  of  that  great 
harlot,  that  is  to  say,  the  pestiferous  see  of  Rome,  that  she  make 
you  not  drunk  with  her  pleasant  wine.  Trust  not  her  sweet 
promises,  nor  banquet  not  with  her  ;  for  instead  of  wine  she  will 
give  you  sour  dregs,  and  for  meat  she  will  feed  you  with  rank 
poison.  But  come  to  our  Redeemer  and  Saviour  Christ,  who 
refresheth  all  that  truly  come  unto  him,  be  their  anguish  and 
heaviness  never  so  great.  Give  credit  unto  him,  in  whose  mouth 
was  never  found  guile  nor  untruth.  By  him  you  shall  be  clearly 
delivered  from  all  your  diseases,  of  him  you  shall  have  full 
remission  a  poena  et  a  culpa.  He  it  is  that  feedeth  continually  all 
that  belong  unto  him,  with  his  own  flesh  that  hanged  upon  the 
cross,  and  giveth  them  drink  of  the  blood  flowing  out  of  his  own 
side,  and  maketh  to  spring  within  them  water  that  floweth  unto 
everlasting  life.  Listen  not  to  the  false  incantations,  sweet 
whisperings,  and  crafty  juggling  of  the  subtle  papists,  wherewith 
they  have  this  many  years  deluded  and  bewitched  the  world  ;  but 
hearken  to  Christ,  give  ear  unto  his  words,  which  lead  you  the 
right  way  unto  everlasting  life,  there  with  him  to  live  ever  as  heirs 
of  his  kingdom.      Amen. 

(From  the  Preface  to  the  Defence  of  the  True  and  Catholic 
Doctrine  of  the  Sacrament.^ 


THE   GOOD   OF  SOUND  TEACHING 

Surely  there  can  be  no  greater  hope  of  any  kind  of  persons,  either 
to  be  brought  to  all  honest  conversation  of  living,  or  to  be  more 
apt  to  set  forth  and  maintain  all  godliness  and  true  religion,  than 
of  such  as  have  been  from  childhood  nourished  and  fed  with  the 
sweet  milk,  and  as  it  were  the  pap,  of  God's  holy  word,  and 
bridled  and  kept  in  awe  with  His  holy  commandments.  For 
commonly,  as  we  are  in  youth  brought  up,  so  we  continue  in  age  ; 
and  savour  longest  of  that  thing  that  we  first  receive  and  taste  of. 
And  as  a  fair  table  finely  polished,  though  it  be  never  so  apt  to 
receive  either  pictures  or  writings,  yet  it  doth  neither  delight  any 


THOMAS  CRANMER 


men's  eyes,  neither  yet  profit  any  thing,  except  the  painter  take 
his  pencil,  set  to  his  hand,  and  with  labour  and  cunning  replenish 
it  with  scriptures  or  figures  as  appertaineth  to  his  science  ;  even  so 
the  tender  wits  of  young  children,  being  yet  naked  and  bare  of  all 
knowledge,  through  the  grace  of  God,  be  apt  to  receive  God's  gifts, 
if  they  be  applied  and  instructed  by  such  schoolmasters  as  have 
knowledge  to  bring  them  up  and  lead  them  forward  therein.  And 
what  can  be  more  apt  to  be  grown  or  painted  in  the  tender  hearts 
of  youth,  than  God's  holy  word  ?  What  can  lead  them  a  righter 
way  to  God,  to  the  obedience  of  their  prince,  and  all  virtue  and 
honesty  of  life,  than  the  sincere  understanding  of  God's  word, 
which  alone  sheweth  the  way  how  to  know  Him,  to  love  Him,  and 
to  serve  Him  ?  What  can  better  keep  and  stay  them,  that  they  do 
not  suddenly  and  lightly  fall  again  from  their  faith  ?  What  can 
cause  them  more  constantly  to  withstand  the  assaults  of  the  devil, 
the  world,  and  the  flesh,  and  manfully  to  bear  the  cross  of  Christ, 
than  to  learn  in  their  youth  to  practise  the  same  ?  And  verily  it 
seemeth  no  new  thing,  that  the  children  of  them  that  be  godly 
should  be  thus  instructed  in  the  faith  and  commandments  of  God 
even  from  their  infancy.  For  doth  not  God  command  His  people 
to  teach  His  law  unto  their  children  and  childer's  children  ?  Hath 
not  this  knowledge  continued  from  time  to  tjime  amongst  them,  to 
whom  God  promised  to  be  their  God,  and  they  His  people.^  Doth  it 
not  appear  by  plain  expressed  words  of  Paul,  that  Timothy  was 
brought  up  even  from  a  child  in  holy  scriptures  .?  Hath  not  the 
commandments  of  Almighty  God,  the  articles  of  the  christian  faith, 
and  the  Lord's  prayer,  been  ever  necessarily,  since  Christ's  time, 
required  of  all,  both  young  and  old,  that  professed  Christ's  name, 
yea,  though  they  were  not  learned  to  read  ?  For  doubtless  in 
these  three  points  is  shortly  and  plainly  included  the  necessary 
knowledge  of  the  whole  sum  of  Christ's  religion,  and  of  all  things 
appertaining  unto  everlasting  life. 


(From  a  Letter  to  King  Edward  VI.) 


HUGH    LATIMER 

[Latimer  was  bom  in  149 1  at  Thurcaston,  Leicestershire  :  his  father  was  a 
yeoman,  represented  by  Latimer  as  a  type  of  the  old  England  which  was  ruined 
by  the  growth  of  sheep-farming  and  a  new  class  of  landlords.  At  Cambridge, 
where  he  was  a  Fellow  of  Clare  Hall,  Latimer  became  suspected  of  heresy.  In 
1530  he  was  called  to  preach  before  the  King.  He  was  made  Bishop  of 
Worcester  in  1535,  but  resigned  his  bishopric  after  the  Si.\  Articles,  in  1539. 
In  1546  he  was  cast  into  the  Tower  ;  he  was  released  in  1547  after  the  death 
of  Henry  VIII.  His  Lent  Sermons  before  King  Edward  VI.  were  preached 
in  the  year  1549.  At  the  accession  of  Queen  Mary,  in  1553,  he  was  again 
imprisoned  in  the  Tower  ;  he  was  brought  from  there  to  0.xford  in  1554,  and 
on  the  i6th  of  October  1555  he  was  burnt  along  with  Ridley,  outside  the 
north  wall  of  Oxford.  There  are  many  editions  of  the  sermons,  from  1549 
onward  :  the  Sermons  and  Femai?is  of  Bishop  Latimer  were  edited,  in  two 
volumes,  for  the  Parker  Society  in  1844-1845.  The  Sertnon  on  the  Ploughers, 
and  the  Sermons  before  King  Edward  VI.,  are  published  in  Mr.  Arber's 
Reprints  ;   the  Sermons  on  the  Card,  in  Cassell's  National  Library.] 

Latimer's  works  are  Sermons,  but  that  is  not  a  full  description 
of  them.  What  survives  in  them  is  akin  to  the  matter  of  familiar 
letters,  memoirs,  or  even  novels^unromantic  novels,  with  a  touch 
of  the  picaresque.  His  prose  is  generally  colloquial  and  direct. 
Speaking  from  his  pulpit — "  The  Shrouds  at  Paul's  Church,"  or 
elsewhere — he  has  often  the  aspect  of  some  primitive  dramatist 
on  his  cart,  acting  his  own  tragedy.  The  character  that  Latimer 
represents  is  his  own  ;  and,  as  was  to  be  expected  in  that  city 
and  nation  and  time,  along  with  the  tragedy  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  comedy  intermingled.  It  is  his  own  life  and  experience  that 
he  puts  before  his  audience  ;  not  elevated  and  elaborated  with 
classical  rhetoric,  but  declared  frankly  in  his  natural  language. 

In  Latimer's  style  there  is  a  good  deal  of  variety.  It  is  always, 
it  is  true,  a  speaking  style  ;  "a  manner  of  teaching,"  as  he  him- 
self confessed,  "  which  is  very  tedious  to  them  that  be  learned  " 
with  its  repetitions,  and  its  ignoring  of  scholarly  apparatus  and 
set  form.  By  its  fondness  for  short  phrases,  Latimer's  style  dis- 
223 


224  ENGLISH  PROSE 


tinguishes  itself  from  the  contemporary  experiments  in  periodic 
and  Latinised  composition.  Its  simplicity  of  construction  gives  it 
great  freshness.  The  sentences  are  such  as  will  always  be  easily 
and  at  once  intelligible,  as  long  as  the  language  lasts  ;  they  are 
nearly  proof  against  changes  of  rhetorical  fashion,  because  there 
is  nothing  cumbrous  or  adventitious  in  them.  They  present  very 
few  weak  places  to  the  critical  assaults  of  time.  Prose  that  is 
written  in  short  sentences,  and  that  deals  with  matters  of  common 
life,  is  adapted  for  every  climate. 

Latimer's  sermons,  however,  though  the  same  style  may  be 
recognised  throughout,  are  not  all,  or  in  all  places,  equally  full  of 
life.  A  considerable  portion  of  his  work,  though  never  any  long 
continuous  passage,  is  of  necessity  abstract,  and  expressed  in  a 
theological  vocabulary.  Many  pages  of  his  sermons  are  made  up 
of  commonplaces.  He  is  sometimes  tempted  into  the  preacher's 
fault  of  keeping  up  an  illustration  too  long  and  too  exhaustively. 
These  things  are  like  the  serious  conversations  in  the  Pilgrmt's 
Progress^  which  are  less  interesting  than  the  adventures,  and  yet 
an  essential  part  of  the  book.  If  there  is  anything  in  Latimer 
which  is  conventional,  it  does  not  last  long ;  it  is  sure  to  be 
quickly  burnt  up  in  some  outbreak  of  passion  ;  as  in  the  Sertnon 
of  the  Plough,  where  a  comparatively  tame  piece  of  preaching 
leads  up  to  the  "burden  of  London."  "But  London  was  never 
so  ill  as  it  is  now.  In  times  past  men  were  full  of  pity  and  com- 
passion ;  but  now  there  is  no  pity." 

Although  Latimer  is  generally  simple,  he  can  when  he  pleases 
use  certain  colours  and  ornaments — a  rudimentary  euphuism  of 
balanced  and  alliterative  phrases,  probably,  like  the  alliteration  in 
Anglo-Saxon  homilies,  borrowed  from  the  popular  poetry.  "  But 
now  for  the  fault  of  unpreaching  prelates,  methink  I  could  guess 
what  might  be  said  for  excusing  of  them.  They  are  so  troubled 
with  lordly  living,  they  be  so  placed  in  palaces,  couched  in  courts, 
ruffling  in  their  rents,  dancing  in  their  dominions,  burdened  with 
ambassages,  pampering  of  their  paunches  like  a  monk  that 
maketh  his  jubilee,  munching  in  their  mangers,  and  moiling  in 
their  gay  manors  and  mansions,  and  so  troubled  with  loitering  in 
their  lordships,  that  they  cannot  attend  it."  The  device  is  used 
here  for  a  definite  satirical  or  mock-heroic  purpose  :  Latimer  is 
not  fond  of  it.  Where  his  language  is  weightiest,  the  rhetoric  is 
less  ostentatious.  "  But,  ye  say,  it  is  new  learning.  Now  I  tell 
you  it  is  the  old  learning.     Yea,  ye  say,  it   is  old  heresy  new 


HUGH  LATIMER  225 


scoured.  Nay,  I  tell  you  it  is  old  truth,  long  rusted  with  your 
canker,  and  now  new  made  bright  and  scoured."  (^A  Sermon 
7nade  by  M.  Hugh  Latimer  at  the  time  of  the  hisurrectiojt  in  the 
North.) 

His  sermons  are  as  full  of  "  ensamples  "  as  those  of  any 
medieval  homilist.  Like  Socrates  he  was  spoken  against  for  his 
homely  illustrations,  although  in  this  he  was  only  following  the 
almost  universal  practice.  "Ye  may  not  be  offended  with  this 
my  similitude  ;  for  I  have  been  slandered  of  some  persons  for 
such  things."  What  distinguishes  Latimer's  figures  is  that  they 
are  almost  always  drawn  from  something  near  him  ;  and  further 
that  he  sets  himself  absolutely  against  all  overstrained  sym- 
bolical interpretation.  So  that  his  illustrations  come  to  be, 
very  often,  practical  arguments  in  the  debate  between  the 
Humanists  and  their  adversaries,  and  Latimer  takes  his  place 
along  with  Colet  and  More  in  demanding  sound  scholarship  and 
common  sense  for  the  exposition  of  the  Bible.  In  this  way  his 
examples  and  illustrations  are  something  more  than  decoration  ; 
and  the  homeliness  of  them  is  not  the  medieval  "art  of  sinking," 
or  inability  to  detect  and  keep  clear  of  bathos  ;  but  the  natural 
expression  of  his  character  and  his  habitual  view,  the  instrument 
of  his  polemic  against  the  allegorical  and  "tropological"  method  of 
interpretation.  He  has  to  argue,  for  instance,  against  the  non- 
literal  interpretation  of  Peter's  fishing-boat,  and  of  the  commands 
given  to  him,  due  in  alttcm  and  laxate  retia.  Latimer  cannot 
refute  the  Papal  claims  without  bringing  in  something  from  his 
own  life.  "  I  will  answer  as  I  find  by  experience  in  myself.  I 
came  hither  to-day  from  Lambeth  in  a  wherry,"  and  so  on.  "  I 
dare  say  there  is  never  a  wherryman  at  Westminster  Bridge  but 
he  can  answer  this,  and  give  a  natural  reason  of  it."  It  would  be 
a  mistake  to  suppose  this  an  appeal  from  scholarship  to  the  sense 
of  the  vulgar ;  the  wherryman  is  called  in  only  because  of  Latimer's 
lively  interest  in  everything  with  which  he  has  to  do,  and  his  dis- 
content with  all  vague  or  colourless  statements. 

Latimer's  own  life  is  extremely  valuable  to  him.  "  A  sore 
bruised  man  "  though  he  was,i  it  was  no  exhausted  and  unrelished 
life  that  he  surrendered.  Nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  him 
than  his  hold  upon  all  the  past  stages  of  his  course.  No  vicissi- 
tudes of  belief  or  fortune  can  make  him  forget  anything  that  has 

1  Augustine  Bernher  :    Dedication  to   the   Duchess   of  Suffolk,   Latimer's 
Sermons,  Part  ii.,  1562. 

VOL.  1  Q 


226  ENGLISH  PROSE 


once  interested  him.  There  is  a  want  of  courtliness  in  his  refusal 
to  suppress,  in  his  sermons,  the  farm  in  Leicestershire  where  he 
was  born  ;  to  many  his  reminiscences  must  be  uncongenial.  To 
call  the  German  Reformation  a  mifigle-inangle  is  bad  enough, 
without  a  digression  on  the  way  of  calling  pigs  in  Leicestershire. 
It  cannot  be  said  that  there  is  any  plebeian  ostentation  of  low  birth 
in  him  ;  on  the  contrary  these  memories  justify  themselves  because 
they  are  part  of  his  belief  in  the  strength  and  virtue  of  the  home 
where  he  was  brought  up.  He  is  not  proud  of  having  risen  ; 
rather,  he  thinks  of  all  England  as  having  declined  from  the  days 
when  his  yeoman  father  taught  him  to  lay  his  body  to  his  bow. 
His  father  is  an  ideal  in  his  eyes,  and  there  is  nothing  in  England 
like  him.  Just  as  Latimer's  advocacy  of  a  reasonable  scholarship, 
in  which  he  resembles  Colet,  is  enlivened  with  modern  instances, 
so  his  reminiscences  of  his  father  give  force  and  vividness  to  that 
complaint  of  the  decay  of  the  yeomanry  which  serves  as  a  com- 
ment on  the  Utopia.  Latimer  gets  all  his  strength  from  this  hold 
that  he  has  on  the  things  nearest  him  in  his  own  life  ;  his  strength 
as  a  practical  counsellor  in  his  own  day ;  his  strength  as  an 
author.  He  is  not  an  artist  ;  but  his  interest  in  persons,  and  in 
particular  things,  takes  him  far  above  the  crowd  of  all  dealers  in 
abstractions.  It  is  easy  to  accuse  him  of  narrowness,  of  rudeness, 
of  want  of  ideas.  The  charge  was  brought  against  him  by  people 
who  found  him  inconvenient  ;  the  religious  sharpers  in  high  places 
who  were  distressed  by  his  insistence  on  certain  matters  of  a 
worldly  and  transitory  import.  " '  Restitution,'  quoth  some, 
'  what  should  he  preach  of  restitution  ?  Let  him  preach  of  contri- 
tion,' quoth  they,  '  and  let  restitution  alone  ;  we  can  never  make 
restitution.'  "  This  whole  passage  may  be  chosen  as  perhaps  the 
most  representative  to  be  found  in  Latimer's  sermons.  There  are 
few  things  in  his  life  more  honourable  than  his  exposure  and 
denunciation  of  adventurers,  his  protest  against  the  Protestant 
tyranny,  and  it  is  here  that  his  style  is  at  its  best. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


DECAY  OF  THE  YEOMANRY 

My  father  was  a  yeoman  and  had  no  lands  of  his  own,  only 
he  had  a  farm  of  three  or  four  pound  by  year  at  the  uttermost, 
and  hereupon  he  tilled  so  much  as  kept  half  a  dozen  men.  He 
had  walk  for  a  hundred  sheep  ;  and  my  mother  milked  thirty 
kine.  He  was  able,  and  did  find  the  king  a  harness,  with 
himself  and  his  horse,  while  he  came  to  the  place  that  he 
should  receive  the  king's  wages.  I  can  remember  that  I  buckled 
his  harness  when  he  went  unto  Blackheath  field.  He  kept  me 
to  school  or  else  I  had  not  been  able  to  have  preached  before 
the  king's  majesty  now.  He  married  my  sisters  with  five 
pound,  or  twenty  nobles  apiece,  so  that  he  brought  them  up 
in  godliness  and  fear  of  God.  He  kept  hospitality  for  his  poor 
neighbours,  and  some  alms  he  gave  to  the  poor.  And  all  this 
he  did  of  the  said  farm,  where  he  that  now  hath  it  payeth 
sixteen  pound  by  year  or  more,  and  is  not  able  to  do  anything 
for  his  prince,  for  himself,  nor  for  his  children,  or  give  a  cup 
of  drink  to  the  poor. 

Thus  all  the  enhancing  and  rearing  goeth  to  your  private 
commodity  and  wealth.  So  that  where  ye  had  a  single  too 
much  you  have  that ;  and  since  the  same,  ye  have  enhanced 
the  rent,  and  so  have  increased  another  too  much  ;  so  now  ye 
have  double  too  much,  which  is  too  too  much.  But  let  the 
preacher  preach  till  his  tongue  be  worn  to  the  stumps,  nothing  is 
amended.  We  have  good  statutes  made  for  the  commonwealth, 
as  touching  commoners  and  inclosers ;  many  meetings  and 
sessions ;  but  in  the  end  of  the  matter  there  cometh  nothing 
forth.  Well,  well,  this  is  one  thing  I  will  say  unto  you  ;  from 
whence  it  cometh  I  know,  even  from  the  devil.  I  know  his 
intent  in  it.  For  if  ye  bring  it  to  pass  that  the  yeomanry  be 
not  able  to  put  their  sons  to  school  (as  indeed  universities  do 
wonderously  decay  already)  and  that  they  be  not  able  to  marry 
their  daughters  to  the  avoiding  of  whoredom  ;   I  say,  ye  pluck 

227 


228  ENGLISH  PROSE 


salvation  from  the  people,  and  utterly  destroy  the  realm.  For 
by  yeomen's  sons  the  faith  of  Christ  is  and  hath  been  maintained 
chiefly.  Is  this  realm  taught  by  rich  men's  sons  ?  No,  no  ; 
read  the  chronicles ;  ye  shall  find  sometime  noblemen's  sons 
which  have  been  unpreaching  bishops  and  prelates,  but  ye 
shall  find  none  of  them  learned  men.  But  verily  they  that 
should  look  to  the  redress  of  these  things  be  the  greatest  against 
them.  In  this  realm  are  a  great  many  folks,  and  amongst 
many  I  know  but  one  of  tender  zeal,  who  at  the  motion  of  his 
poor  tenants  hath  let  down  his  lands  to  the  old  rents  for  their 
relief.  For  God's  love  let  him  not  be  a  phoenix,  let  him  not  be 
alone,  let  him  not  be  an  hermit  closed  in  a  wall ;  some  good 
man  follow  him,  and  do  as  he  giveth  example. 

Surveyors  there  be,  that  greedily  gorge  up  their  covetous  guts  : 
hand -makers  I  mean  ;  honest  men  I  touch  not ;  but  all  such 
as  survey,  they  make  up  their  mouths,  but  the  commons  be  .utterly 
undone  by  them  ;  whose  bitter  cry  ascending  up  to  the  ears  of 
the  God  of  Sabaoth,  the  greedy  pit  of  hell  and  burning  fire  (with- 
out great  repentance)  do  tarry  and  look  for  them.  A  redress  God 
grant  !  For  surely,  surely,  but  that  two  things  do  comfort  me, 
I  would  despair  of  the  redress  in  these  matters.  One  is,  that 
the  king's  majesty,  when  he  cometh  to  age,  will  see  a  redress 
of  these  things  so  out  of  frame  ;  giving  example  by  letting  down 
his  own  lands  first,  and  then  enjoin  his  subjects  to  follow  him. 
The  second  hope  I  have  is,  I  believe  that  the  general  accounting 
day  is  at  hand,  the  dreadful  day  of  judgment,  I  mean,  which 
shall  make  an  end  of  all  these  calamities  and  miseries.  For, 
as  the  scriptures  be.  Cum  dixerint,  Pax\  pax\  "When  they  shall 
say.  Peace,  peace,"  Omnia  tufa,  "  All  things  are  sure  "  ;  then  is 
the  day  at  hand,  a  merry  day  I  say,  for  all  such  as  do  in  this 
world  study  to  serve  and  please  God,  and  continue  in  his  faith, 
fear,  and  love  ;  and  a  dreadful  horrible  day  for  them  that  decline 
from  God,  walking  in  their  own  ways  ;  to  whom,  as  it  is  written 
in  the  twenty-fifth  of  Matthew,  is  said,  Ife,  7)ialedicti,  in  ignetn 
(Sternum,  "  Go,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  punishment,  where 
shall  be  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth."  But  unto  the  other 
he  shall  say,  Venite,  betiedicti,  "  Come,  ye  blessed  children  of 
my  Father,  possess  ye  the  Kingdom  prepared  for  you  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world " ;  of  the  which  God  make  us  all 
partakers !     Ame?i. 


HUGH  LATIMER  229 


DUTIES  AND   RESPECT  OF  JUDGES 

I  WILL  tell  you  my  Lords  Judges,  if  ye  consider  this  matter 
well,  ye  should  be  more  afraid  of  the  poor  widow,  than  of  a  noble- 
man with  all  the  friends  and  power  that  he  can  make.  But  now- 
a-days  the  Judges  be  afraid  to  hear  a  poor  man  against  the  rich, 
insomuch,  they  will  either  pronounce  against  him,  or  so  drive  off 
the  poor  man's  suit,  that  he  shall  not  be  able  to  go  through  with 
it.  The  greatest  man  in  a  realm  can  not  so  hurt  a  Judge  as  the 
poor  widow,  such  a  shrewd  turn  she  can  do  him.  And  with  what 
armour  I  pray  you  ?  She  can  bring  the  Judge's  skin  over  his  ears, 
and  never  lay  hands  upon  him.  And  how  is  that  ?  Lacrim(i> 
miseroriim  desceftdunt  ad  maxillas,  the  tears  of  the  poor  fall  down 
upon  their  cheeks,  et  ascendunt  ad  ccelum,  and  go  up  to  heaven, 
and  cry  for  vengeance  before  God,  the  judge  of  widows,  the  father 
of  the  widows  and  orphans.  Poor  people  be  oppressed  even  by 
laws.  VcB  Us  qui  condttnt  leges  iniquas.  Woe  worth  to  them 
that  make  evil  laws.  If  woe  be  to  them  that  make  laws  against 
the  poor,  what  shall  be  to  them  that  hinder  and  mar  good  laws  .'' 
Quid  facietis  in  die  tiltiojiis?  What  will  ye  do  in  tlie  day  of 
vengeance,  when  God  will  visit  you  1  He  saith,  he  will  hear  the 
tears  of  poor  women  when  he  goeth  on  visitation.  For  their 
sakes  he  will  hurt  the  judge,  be  he  never  so  high.  Deus  transfert 
regna.  He  will  for  widows'  sakes  change  realms,  bring  them  into 
subjection,  pluck  the  judges'  skins  over  their  heads. 

Cambyses  was  a  great  Emperor,  such  another  as  our  master 
is  ;  he  had  many  Lord  deputies,  Lord  presidents,  and  Lieutenants 
under  him.  It  is  a  great  while  ago  sith  I  read  the  history.  It 
chanced  he  had  under  him  in  one  of  his  dominions  a  briber,  a  gift 
taker,  a  gratifier  of  rich  men,  he  followed  gifts,  as  fast  as  he  that 
followed  the  pudding,  a  hand  maker  in  his  office,  to  make  his  son 
a  great  man,  as  the  old  saying  is,  Happy  is  the  child  whose  father 
goeth  to  the  Devil. 

The  cry  of  the  poor  widow  came  to  the  Emperor's  ear,  and 
caused  him  to  flay  the  judge  quick,  and  laid  his  skin  in  his  chair 
of  judgement,  that  all  judges,  that  should  give  judgement  after- 
ward, should  sit  in  the  same  skin.  Surely  it  was  a  goodly  sign, 
a  goodly  monument,  the  sign  of  the  judge's  skin  :  I  pray  God  we 
may  once  see  the  sign  of  the  skin  in  England.  Ye  will  say  per- 
adventure  that  this  is  cruelly  and  uncharitably  spoken  :  no,  no. 


230  ENGLISH  PROSE 


I  do  it  charitably  for  a  love  I  bear  to  my  country.  God  saith, 
Ego  visitabo,  I  will  visit.  God  hath  two  visitations.  The  first 
is,  when  he  revealeth  his  word  by  preachers  and  where  the  first 
is  accepted,  the  second  cometh  not.  The  second  visitation  is 
vengeance.  He  went  a  visitation,  when  he  brought  the  judge's 
skin  over  his  ears.  If  his  word  be  despised  he  cometh  with  his 
second  visitation  with  vengeance. 

Noah  preached  God's  word  an  hundred  years,  and  was 
laughed  to  scorn,  and  called  an  old  doating  fool.  Because  they 
would  not  accept  this  first  visitation,  God  visited  the  second  time  : 
he  poured  down  showers  of  rain  till  all  the  world  was  drowned. 

Lot  was  a  visitor  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  but  because  they 
regarded  not  his  preaching,  God  visited  them  the  second  time,  and 
brent  them  all  up  with  brimstone  saving  Lot.  Moses  came  first 
a  visitation  into  Egypt  with  God's  word,  and  because  they  would 
not  hear  him,  God  visited  them  again,  and  drowned  them  in  the 
Red  Sea.  God  likewise  with  his  first  visitation,  visited  the  Israel- 
ites by  his  prophets,  but  because  they  would  not  hear  his  prophets, 
he  visited  them  the  second  time,  and  dispersed  them  in  Assyria 
and  Babylon. 

John  Baptist  likewise  and  our  Saviour  Christ  visited  them  after- 
wards declaring  to  them  God's  will,  and  because  they  despised 
these  visitors,  he  destroyed  Jerusalem  by  Titus  and  Vespasianus. 

Germany  was  visited  twenty  years  with  God's  word,  but  they 
did  not  earnestly  embrace  it,  and  in  life  follow  it,  but  made  a 
mingle  mangle  and  a  hotchpotch  of  it,  I  can  not  tell  what, 
partly  popery,  partly  true  religion  mingled  together.  They  say 
in  my  country,  when  they  call  their  hogs  to  the  swine  trough, 
Come  to  thy  mingle  mangle,  come  pyr,  come  pyr :  even  so  they 
made  mingle  mangle  of  it. 

They  could  clatter  and  prate  of  the  Gospel,  but  when  all 
cometh  to  all,  they  joined  popery  so  with  it,  that  they  marred  all 
together,  they  scratched  and  scraped  all  the  livings  of  the  church, 
and  under  a  colour  of  religion  turned  it  to  their  own  proper  gain 
and  lucre.  God,  seeing  that  they  would  not  come  unto  his  word, 
now  he  visiteth  them  in  the  second  time  of  his  visitation  with  his 
wrath.  For  the  taking  away  of  God's  word,  is  a  manifest  token 
of  his  wrath.  We  have  now  a  first  visitation  in  England  :  let  us 
beware  of  the  second.  We  have  the  ministration  of  his  word,  we 
are  yet  well,  but  the  house  is  not  clean  swept  yet. 

God  has  sent  us  a  noble   Kingf  in  this  his  visitation,  let  us  not 


HUGH  LA  TIMER  231 


provoke  him  against  us,  let  us  beware,  let  us  not  displease  him, 
let  us  not  be  unthankful,  and  unkind,  let  us  beware  of  bywalking 
and  contemning  of  God's  word,  let  us  pray  diligently  for  our  king, 
let  us  receive  with  all  obedience  and  prayer,  the  word  of  God.  A 
word  or  two  more  and  I  commit  you  to  God.  I  will  monish  you 
of  a  thing.  I  hear  say  ye  walk  inordinately,  ye  talk  unseemly 
other  ways  than  it  becometh  Christian  subjects.  Ye  take  upon 
,you  to  judge  the  judgments  of  judges.  I  will  not  make  the  king 
a  Pope,  for  the  Pope  will  have  all  things  that  he  doth,  taken 
for  an  Article  of  our  faith.  I  will  not  say  but  that  the  king,  and 
his  council  may  err,  the  Parliament  houses  both  the  high  and  low 
may  err.  I  pray  daily  that  they  may  not  err.  It  becometh  us 
whatsoever  they  decree  to  stand  unto  it,  and  receive  it  obediently, 
as  farforth  as  it  is  not  manifestly  wicked,  and  directly  against  the 
word  of  God  ;  it  pertaineth  unto  us  to  think  the  best,  though  we 
can  not  tender  a  cause  for  the  doing  of  every  thing.  For  Caritas 
omnia  credit,  omnia  sperat.  Charity  doth  believe  and  trust  all 
things.  We  ought  to  expound  to  the  best  all  things,  although  we 
can  not  yield  a  reason. 

Therefore  I  exhort  you  good  people  pronounce  in  good  part 
all  the  facts  and  deeds  of  the  magistrates  and  judges.  Charity 
judgeth  the  best  of  all  men,  and  specially  of  magistrates.  St. 
Paul  saith,  Nolite  judicare  ante  temptts  donee  dominiis  advenerit. 
Judge  not  before  the  time  of  the  lord's  coming.  Praviini  cor 
hominis,  Man's  heart  is  unsearchable,  it  is  a  ragged  piece  of 
work,  no  man  knoweth  his  own  heart,  and  therefore  David  prayeth 
and  saith  Ab  occultis  meis  munda  me,  Deliver  me  from  my  un- 
known faults.  I  am  a  further  offender  than  I  can  see.  A  man 
shall  be  blinded  in  love  of  himself,  and  not  see  so  much  in  himself 
as  in  other  men,  let  us  not  therefore  judge  judges.  We  are  compt- 
able  to  God,  and  so  be  they.  Let  them  alone,  they  have  their 
counts  to  make.  If  we  have  charity  in  us  we  shall  do  this.  For 
Caritas  operatur.  Charity  worketh.  What  worketh  it  ?  marry 
Om7iia  credere,  omftia  sperare,  to  accept  all  things  in  good  part. 
Nolite  judicare  ante  tempus.  Judge  not  before  the  Lord's  coming. 
In  this  we  learn  to  know  Antichrist,  which  doth  elevate  himself 
in  the  church,  and  judgeth  at  his  pleasure  before  the  time.  His 
canonizations  and  judging  of  men  before  the  Lord's  judgment,  be 
a  manifest  token  of  Antichrist.  How  can  he  know  Saints  ?  He 
knoweth  not  his  own  heart,  and  he  can  not  know  them  by  miracles. 
For  some  miracle  workers  shall. go  to  the  devil.      I  will  tell  you 


232  ENGLISH  PROSE 


what  I  remembered  yester  night  in  my  bed.  A  marvellous  tale 
to  perceive  how  inscrutable  a  man's  heart  is.  I  was  once  at 
Oxford,  (for  I  had  occasion  to  come  that  way,  when  I  was  in  my 
office,)  they  told  me  it  was  a  gainer  way,  and  a  fairer  way,  and 
by  that  occasion  I  lay  there  a  night.  Being  there  I  heard  of  an 
execution  that  was  done  upon  one  that  suffered  for  treason.  It 
was  (as  ye  know)  a  dangerous  world,  for  it  might  soon  cost  a 
man  his  life  for  a  word's  speaking.  I  can  not  tell  what  the  matter 
was,  but  the  judge  set  it  so  out  that  the  man  was  condemned. 
The  twelve  men  came  in,  and  said  guilty,  and  upon  that,  he  was 
judged  to  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  When  the  rope 
was  about  his  neck,  no  man  could  persuade  him  that  he  was  in 
any  fault,  and  stood  there  a  great  while  in  the  protestation  of  his 
innocency.  They  hanged  him  and  cut  him  down  somewhat  too 
soon  afore  he  was  clean  dead,  then  they  drew  him  to  the  fire, 
and  he  revived,  and  then  he  coming  to  his  remembrance  con- 
fessed his  fault,  and  said  he  was  guilty.  O  a  wonderful  example ! 
It  may  well  be  said, /r«7/«;«  cor  hominis  et  inscrutabile,  a  crabbed 
piece  of  work  and  unsearchable.  I  will  leave  here,  for  I  think 
you  know  what  I  mean  well  enough. 


ILLEGAL  PROFITS  OF   KING'S  OFFICERS 

But  now  I  will  play  St.  Paul,  and  translate  the  thing  on 
myself  I  will  become  the  king's  officer  for  awhile.  I  have  to 
lay  out  for  the  king  twenty  thousand  pounds,  or  a  great  sum 
whatsoever  it  be  ;  well,  when  I  have  laid  it  out,  and  do  bring 
in  mine  account,  I  must  give  three  hundred  marks  to  have  my 
bills  warranted.  If  I  have  done  truly  and  uprightly,  what 
should  need  me  to  give  a  penny  to  have  my  bills  warranted  ? 
If  I  have  done  my  office  truly,  and  do  bring  in  a  true  account, 
wherefore  should  one  groat  be  given  ?  yea,  one  groat,  for  warrant- 
ing of  my  bills .?  Smell  ye  nothing  in  this  t  What  needeth 
any  bribes-giving,  except  the  bills  be  false?  No  man  giveth 
bribes  for  warranting  of  his  bills,  except  they  be  false  bills.  Well, 
such  practice  hath  been  in  England,  but  beware  ;  it  will  out  one 
day :  beware  of  God's  proverb,  "  There  is  nothing  hidden  that 
shall  not  be  opened  "  ;  yea,  even  in  this  world,  if  ye  be  not  the 
children    of   damnation.      And    here   now    I    speak   to    you,   my 


HUGH  LATIMER  233 


masters,  minters,  augmentationers,  receivers,  surveyors,  and 
auditors  :  I  make  a  petition  unto  you ;  I  beseech  you  all  be 
good  to  the  king.  He  hath  been  good  to  you,  therefore  be 
good  to  him  :  yea,  be  good  to  your  own  souls.  Ye  are  known 
well  enough,  what  ye  were  afore  ye  came  to  your  offices,  and 
what  lands  ye  had  then,  and  what  ye  have  purchased  since, 
and  what  buildings  ye  make  daily.  Well,  I  pray  you  so  build, 
that  the  king's  workmen  may  be  paid.  They  make  their  moan 
that  they  can  get  no  money.  The  poor  labourers,  gun -makers, 
powder-men,  bow-makers,  arrow-makers,  smiths,  carpenters, 
soldiers,  and  other  crafts,  cry  out  for  their  duties.  They  be 
unpaid,  some  of  them,  three  or  four  months  ;  yea,  some  of 
them  half  a  year :  yea,  some  of  them  put  up  bills  this  time 
twelve  months  for  their  money,  and  cannot  be  paid  yet.  They 
cry  out  for  their  money,  and,  as  the  prophet  saith,  Clamor 
operariorion  ascendit  ad  aures  meas  ;  "  The  cry  of  the  workmen 
is  come  up  to  mine  ears."  O,  for  God's  love,  let  the  workmen 
be  paid,  if  there  be  money  enough  ;  or  else  there  will  whole 
showers  of  God's  vengeance  rain  down  upon  your  heads ! 
Therefore,  ye  minters,  and  ye  augmentationers,  serve  the  king 
truly.  So  build  and  purchase,  that  thfe  king  may  have  money 
to  pay  his  workmen.  It  seemeth  ill-favouredly,  that  ye  should 
have  enough  wherewith  to  build  superfluously,  and  the  king 
lack  to  pay  his  poor  labourers.  Well,  yet  I  doubt  not  but  that 
there  be  some  good  officers.      But  I  will  not  swear  for  all. 

I  have  now  preached  three  Lents.  The  first  time  I  preached 
restitution.  "Restitution,"  quoth  some,  "what  should  he  preach 
of  restitution  ?  Let  him  preach  of  contrition,"  quoth  they  "  and 
let  restitution  alone ;  we  can  never  make  restitution."  Then, 
say  I,  if  thou  wilt  not  make  restitution,  thou  shalt  go  to  the 
devil  for  it.  Now  choose  thee  either  restitution,  or  else  endless 
damnation.  But  now  there  be  two  manner  of  restitutions  ;  secret 
restitution,  and  open  restitution  ;  whether  of  both  it  be,  so  that 
restitution  be  made,  it  is  all  good  enough.  At  my  first  preaching 
of  restitution,  one  good  man  took  remorse  of  conscience,  and 
acknowledged  himself  to  me,  that  he  had  deceived  the  king  ; 
and  willing  he  was  to  make  restitution  ;  and  so,  the  first  Lent, 
came  to  my  hands  twenty  pounds  to  be  restored  to  the  king's 
use.  I  was  promised  twenty  pound  more  the  same  Lent,  but 
it  could  not  be  made,  so  that  it  came  not.  Well,  the  next  Lent 
came   three   hundred    and   twenty  pounds   more.     I    received   it 


234  ENGLISH  PROSE 


myself,  and  paid  it  to  the  king's  council.  So  I  was  asked  what 
he  was  that  made  this  restitution  ?  But  should  I  have  named 
him  ?  Nay,  they  should  as  soon  have  this  wesant  of  mine. 
Well,  now  this  Lent  came  one  hundred  and  fourscore  pounds 
ten  shillings,  which  I  have  paid  and  delivered  this  present  day 
to  the  king's  council  :  and  so  this  man  hath  made  a  godly 
restitution.  "And  so,"  quoth  I  to  a  certain  nobleman  that  is  one 
of  the  king's  council,  "  if  every  man  that  hath  beguiled  the  king 
should  make  restitution  after  this  sort,  it  would  cough  the  king 
twenty  thousand  pounds  I  think,"  quoth  I.  "Yea  that  it  would," 
quoth  the  other,  "  a  whole  hundred  thousand  pounds."  Alack, 
alack  ;  make  restitution ;  for  God's  sake  make  restitution  ;  ye 
will  cough  in  hell  else,  that  all  the  devils  there  will  laugh  at 
your  coughing.  There  is  no  remedy,  but  restitution  open  or 
secret ;  or  else  hell. 


JOHN   LELAND 

[Leland,  the  antiquary,  was  born  in  London  about  1500,  and  educated  at 
St.  Paul's  School,  at  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  and  at  All  Souls,  Oxford. 
He  spent  several  years  in  France  and  Italy,  and  returned  to  England  a  prodigy 
of  learning.  Taking  orders,  he  was  appointed  a  Royal  Chaplain  and  King's 
Antiquary,  with  a  commission  (dated  1533)  to  examine  the  antiquities  of  the 
whole  country,  and  with  this  end  to  search  the  libraries  of  all  colleges  and 
religious  houses.  The  moment  was  opportune,  as  the  dissolution  of  the 
monasteries  was  near  at  hand.  After  six  years  of  travel  and  inquiry  he 
settled  in  London  to  digest  his  materials.  But  before  he  could  do  more  than 
put  his  vast  accumulations  in  order,  his  reason  became  impaired,  and  he  died 
in  1552.  Most  of  his  papers  are  preserved  in  the  Bodleian  Library  and  the 
British  Museum.  They  were  printed  in  many  volumes  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  ] 

Leland  belongs  to  the  useful  class  of  writers  who  are  pioneers. 
They  observe,  collect  and  prepare  the  material  with  which  the 
man  of  historical  or  scientific  genius  builds.  Leland,  whom 
Antony  Wood  calls  facile  princeps  of  English  antiquaries,  was 
almost  incredibly  laborious,  with  a  faculty  of  intelligent  observa- 
tion which  made  him  the  idol  of  those  who  followed  in  his 
track.  Here  is  an  entry  culled  at  random  from  his  Itincfary  : — 
"Aldborough  is  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Borough 
Bridge.  This  was  in  the  Romans'  time  a  great  city  on  Watling 
Street  called  Isuria  Brigantum,  and  was  walled,  whereof  I  saw 
vestigia  (juadam  sed  tenuia."  Hundreds  of  pages  are  crammed 
with  similar  records  of  fact,  and  interspersed  here  and  there  are 
copies  of  old  documents  and  queries  for  future  consideration. 
Turning  over  a  volume  of  his  Collectanea,  we  notice  in  succession 
a  list  of  Welsh  words  with  their  Latin  equivalents,  catalogues  of 
manuscripts  in  various  monasteries  and  colleges,  a  genealogy  of 
the  Earls  of  Warwick — in  short  an  infinite  medley  of  miscel- 
laneous information.  He  thus  performed  single-handed,  for  the 
reign  of  Henry  VHI.,  the  task  which  various  learned  societies 
and  Royal  Commissions  endeavour  to  overtake   in  our  own  day. 

235 


236  ENGLISH  PROSE 


But  it  would  be  unfair  to  call  Leland  a  mere  compiler  of  notes, 
although  his  notes,  as  it  happens,  are  his  best  memorial.  His 
"  New  Year's  Gift "  shows  him  to  have  been  a  man  of  large  con- 
ceptions, full  of  plans  for  future  work.  A  reference  to  his  Latin 
commentaries  De  Scriptoribus  Britamiicis  enables  us  to  guess  how 
he  would  have  accomplished  his  projected  magtuim  opus — a  Civilis 
Hisioria  or  treatise  in  fifty  books  on  British  antiquities — had  his 
mind  not  given  way.  Amid  a  wilderness  of  legendary  bards  and 
forgotten  scholastics  it  is  interesting  to  find  perfectly  readable 
essays  on  Wyclifife  and  Chaucer.  The  sketch  of  Wycliflfe  ends 
with  a  remark  which  brings  home  to  us  the  feelings  of  the  time 
vv'hen  Leland  wrote  : — "Long  as  it  is,"  he  says  (we  paraphrase  from 
his  Latin)  "  since  Wycliffe's  bones  were  exhumed  and  burned,  our 
age  has  not  yet  seen  the  conclusion  of  that  tragedy — what  it 
will  be,  God  only  knows,  to  Whose  judg7nefit  Wycliffe  may  bs 
left."  The  essay  on  Chaucer  is  singularly  modern  in  its  structure. 
Commencing  with  a  paragraph  on  the  poet's  birth  and  education, 
it  proceeds  to  trace  his  connection  with  the  contemporary  poetry 
of  Italy  and  France  ;  claims  for  him  that  he  brought  "our  tongue 
to  such  a  pitch  of  purity  and  eloquence,  of  brevity  and  grace,  that 
it  could  at  last  be  reckoned  one  of  the  languages  of  civilisation  "  ; 
quotes  various  laudatory  verses  ;  praises  Caxton  for  his  edition  of 
the  poet ;  gives  a  list  of  Chaucer's  works  ;  and  ends,  in  the  most 
approved  style,  with  his  epitaph.  Leland's  Latin  style  is  fluent  and 
copious,  but  not  elegant.  Of  his  English  there  is  little  to  be  said, 
except  that  it  is  clear  and  straightforward. 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


THE  LABORIOUS  JOURNEY  AND  SEARCH  OF  JOHN 
LELAND  FOR  ENGLAND'S  ANTIQUITIES,  GIVEN 
OF  HIM  AS  A  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT  TO  KING 
HENRY  THE  EIGHTH. 

Wherefore  after  that  I  had  perpended  the  honest  and  profitable 
studies  of  these  historiographs,  I  was  totally  inflamed  with  a  love 
to  see  thoroughly  all  those  parts  of  this  your  opulent  and  ample 
realm,  that  I  had  read  of  in  the  aforesaid  writers  :  in  so  much 
that  all  my  other  occupations  intermitted,  I  have  so  travelled  in 
your  dominions  both  by  the  sea  coasts  and  the  middle  parts,  sparing 
neither  labour  nor  costs,  by  the  space  of  these  six  year's  past, 
that  there  is  almost  neither  cape,  nor  bay,  haven,  creek  or  pier, 
river  or  confluence  of  rivers,  breaches,  washes,  lakes,  meres,  fenny 
waters,  mountains,  valleys,  moors,  heaths,  forests,  chases,  woods, 
cities,  burghs,  castles,  principal  manor  places,  monasteries,  and 
colleges,  but  I  have  seen  them  ;  and  noted  in  so  doing  a  whole 
world  of  things  very  memorable. 

Thus  instructed  I  trust  shortly  to  see  the  time  that  like  as 
Carolus  Magnus  had  among  his  treasures  three  large  and  notable 
tables  of  silver  richly  enamelled,  one  of  the  site  and  description 
of  Constantinople,  another  of  the  site  and  figure  of  the  magnificent 
city  of  Rome;  and  the  third  of  the  description  of  the  world  ;  so 
shall  your  Majesty  have  this  your  world  and  impery  of  England 
so  set  forth  in  a  quadrate  table  of  silver,  if  God  send  me  life  to 
accomplish  my  beginnings,  that  your  grace  shall  have  ready 
knowledge  at  the  first  sight  of  many  right  delectable,  fruitful,  and 
necessary  pleasures,  by  the  contemplation  thereof  as  often  as 
occasion  shall  move  you  to  the  sight  of  it. 

And  because  that  it  may  be  more  permanent,  and  farther 
known  than  to  have  it  engraved  in  silver  or  brass,  I  intend  (by 
the  leave  of  God)  within  the  space  of  twelve  months  following 
such  a  description  to  make  of  your  realm   in  writing,  that  it  shall 

237 


238  ENGLISH  PROSE 


be  no  mastery  after  for  the  graver  or  painter  to  make  a  like  by 
a  perfect  example. 

Yea  and  to  wade  farther  in  this  matter,  whereas  now  almost 
no  man  can  well  guess  at  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  names  of 
havens,  rivers,  promontories,  hills,  woods,  cities,  towns,  castles, 
and  variety  of  kinds  of  people,  that  Caesar,  Livy,  Strabo,  Diodorus, 
Fabius  Pictor,  Pomponius  Mela,  Plinius,  Cornelius  Tacitus,  Ptole- 
maeus,  Sextus  Rufus,  Ammianus  Marcellinus,  Solinus,  Antoninus, 
and  divers  other  make  mention  of,  I  trust  so  to  open  this  window 
that  the  light  shall  be  seen,  so  long,  that  is  to  say  by  the  space 
of  a  whole  thousand  years  stopped  up,  and  the  old  glory  of  your 
renowned  Britain  to  reflourish  thorough  the  world. 

This  done  I  have  matter  at  plenty  already  prepared  to  this 
purpose,  that  is  to  say,  to  write  an  history,  to  the  which  I  intend 
to  ascribe  this  title,  De  A/iiiqieitate  Britafimcd,  or  else  Civilis 
Historia.  And  this  work  I  intend  to  divide  into  so  many  books 
as  there  be  shires  in  England,  and  sheres  and  great  dominions  in 
Wales.  So  that  I  esteem  that  this  volume  will  include  a  fifty  books, 
whereof  each  one  severally  shall  contain  the  beginnings,  increases, 
and  memorable  acts  of  the  chief  towns  and  castles  of  the  province 
allotted  to  it. 

Then  I  intend  to  distribute  into  six  books  such  matter  as  I 
have  already  collected  concerning  the  isles  adjacent  to  your  noble 
realm  and  under  your  subjection.  Whereof  three  shall  be  of  these 
isles,  Vecta,  Mona,  and  Menavia,  sometime  kingdoms. 

And  to  superadd  a  work  as  an  ornament  and  a  right  comely 
garland  to  the  enterprises  aforesaid,  I  have  selected  stuff  to  be 
distributed  into  three  books,  the  which  I  purpose  thus  to  entitle, 
De  Nobilitate  Britannicd.  Whereof  the  first  shall  declare  the 
names  of  kings,  queens,  with  their  children,  dukes,  earls,  lords, 
captains,  and  rulers  in  this  realm  to  the  coming  of  the  Saxons 
and  their  conquest.  The  second  shall  be  of  the  Saxons  and 
Danes  to  the  victory  of  King  William  the  Great.  The  third  from 
the  Normans  to  the  reign  of  your  most  noble  Grace,  descending 
lineally  of  the  Briton,  Saxon,  and  Norman  kings.  So  that  all  noble 
men  shall  clearly  perceive  their  lineal  parentele. 

(From  Preface.^ 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  SCOTLAND 


1549 

The  Complaint  of  Scotland,  the  earliest  book  in  Scottish  prose, 
a  discourse  written  immediately  after  the  battle  of  Pinkie  to 
strengthen  the  Scottish  hatred  of  their  "  old  enemies  of  England" 
and  confirm  the  national  sentiment  of  independence,  is  worth 
reading  on  various  accounts.  It  has  a  style,  and,  though  not  a 
great  work,  is  both  representative  of  its  period  and  also  possessed 
of  some  individuality.  A  good  deal  both  of  the  matter  and  form 
is  commonplace.  The  "  machinery  "  of  the  vision  in  which  Dame 
Scotia  and  her  three  sons  (the  three  Estates)  appear  to  the  author, 
as  he  sleeps  after  his  wanderings  on  a  summer  morning,  is  bor- 
rowed, a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  from  the  stock  of  the  Chaucerian 
poets  ;  and  the  examples  and  illustrations  are  of  the  usual  medieval 
sort  from  the  usual  ancient  authors.  Further,  there  is  the  ordinary 
medieval  incontinence  of  general  information  ;  the  author  cannot 
keep  the  sciences  out  of  his  argument.  Part  of  the  diversion  of 
the  summer  morning  is  a  shepherd's  oration,  in  considerable 
detail,  on  the  constitution  of  the  universe,  the  spheres,  the  primum 
viobile,  the  retrograde  movement  of  the  planets  from  Occident  to 
Orient,  the  antipodes,  the  tropics,  and  other  branches  of  learning. 
It  is  true  that  this  is  styled  (by  the  shepherd's  wife)  a  "  tedious, 
melancholic  orison,"  but  the  author  enjoys  it  thoroughly.  On 
the  other  hand  the  book,  for  all  these  drawbacks,  by  some  means 
is  enabled  to  escape  the  dulness  of  the  medieval  expositor  in  his 
prime.  The  Complaint  of  Scotland  belongs  to  the  revival  of  learn- 
ing. It  is  full  of  the  new  delight  in  eloquent  and  ornate  language, 
which  filled  all  the  literatures  of  Europe  with  Latin  and  Greek ;  the 
author's  hypocritical  apology  for  his  use  of  "agrest  termis"  in  itself 
sufficiently  bewrays  him.     In  this  he  is  the  follower  of  the  Scottish 

239 


240  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Chaucerian  poets,  and  with  some  reason  ;  the  old  Scottish  revelry 
in  words,  whether  native  and  indecorous,  or  foreign  and  dignified, 
was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  The  taste  descends  from  the 
contemporaries  of  Dunbar  and  Douglas  to  their  successors.  Sir 
Thomas  Urquhart's  translation  of  Rabelais  may  be  taken  as  one 
of  the  last  achievements  of  this  exuberant  spirit,  and  there  are 
many  things  in  the  Complaint  that  suggest  both  Urquhart  and 
his  original.  This  is  more  particularly  the  case  in  the  interlude 
("Ane  Monolog  of  the  Actor")  that  comes  between  the  prefatory 
matter  and  the  vision  and  complaint  of  Dame  Scotia.  There  the 
author  has  indulged  his  genius  to  the  fullest.  He  leaves  the 
wrongs  and  distresses  of  his  country  ;  he  leaves  the  English, 
those  "boreaus"  (headsmen,  boicrreaiix)  and  hangmen,  for  the 
utter  extinction,  "  furth  of  remembrance,"  of  which  "  false  seed 
and  incredule  generation  "  he  has  fervently  prayed.  He  loses 
himself  in  an  ornate  description  of  a  summer  day — a  summer 
evening  and  morning — after  the  fashion  of  the  poets,  borrowing 
their  alliteration  and  a  good  deal  of  their  rhythm.  He  gives 
all  the  cries  of  all  the  birds,  and,  as  though  he  had  known  of 
Ronsard's  advice  to  poets  to  get  up  the  terms  of  every  trade,  he 
espies  a  ship  at  anchor,  equipped  for  war — "  Ane  galliasse  gayly 
grathit  for  the  veyr  "—and  squanders  a  page  or  two  of  sea  terms 
to  reproduce  the  shouts  of  master,  boatswain,  and  mariners  as 
they  weigh  the  anchor  and  set  sail,  and  follows  this  up  with  terms 
of  artillery.  This  irrelevance  is  something  different  from  the 
"  prolixt  "  astronomy  that  follows  :  it  is  a  humorous  eccentricity, 
and  proceeds,  not  from  the  medieval  love  of  edification,  but  from 
a  Rabelaisian  passion  for  stringing  things  together,  which  is  a 
passion  for  copious  phrasing  and  vivid  details.  The  comic  and 
imaginative  value  of  details  is  fortunately  recognised  in  the 
Complaitjt  of  ScoilatJii,  and  the  pastoral  interlude  is  diversified 
by  one  or  two  catalogues  that  form  the  most  interesting  part  of 
the  book — catalogues  of  the  songs  sung  and  the  stories  told  by 
the  shepherds,  a  medley  of  northern  and  classical  stories,  in 
which  the  Red  Etin,  the  Three-footed  Dog  of  Norroway,  and  the 
Well  of  the  World's  End  are  accompanied  by  the  fables  of  the 
Metamorphoses ;  "  quhou  that  dedalus  maid  the  laborynth  to 
keip  the  monster  minotaurus,"  and  "quhou  Kyng  midas  gat  tua 
asse  luggis  on  his  hede,  be  cause  of  his  auereis." 

W    P.  Ker. 


ANE  MONOLOGUE  OF  THE  ACTOR 

The  solicitous  and  attentive  labours  that  I  took  to  write  the 
passages  before  rehearsed,  gart  all  my  body  become  imbecile  and 
weaiy,  and  my  spirit  become  sopit  in  sadness,  through  the  long 
continuation  of  study,  whilk  did  fatigue  my  reason,  and  gart  all 
my  members  become  impotent.  Then,  to  escape  the  evil  acci- 
dents that  succeed  from  the  unnatural  day- sleep,  as  catarrhs, 
head  works,  and  indigestion,  I  thought  it  necessary  to  exercise 
me  with  some  active  recreation,  to  hold  my  spirits  waking  from 
dulness.  Then,  to  execute  this  purpose,  I  passed  to  the  green 
wholesome  fields,  situate  most  commodiously  from  distempered 
air  and  corrupt  infection,  to  receive  the  sweet  fragrant  smell  of 
tender  grasses,  and  of  wholesome  balmy  flowers  most  odoriferant. 
Beside  the  foot  of  ane  Uttle  mountain,  there  ran  ane  fresh  river 
as  clear  as  beryl,  where  I  beheld  the  pretty  fish  wantonly  darting 
with  their  red  vermillion  fins,  and  their  scales  like  the  bright 
silver.  On  the  tother  side  of  that  river,  there  was  ane  green 
bank  full  of  ra?>iinel  green  trees,  where  there  was  many  small 
birds  hopping  from  bush  to  twist,  singing  melodious  reports  of 
natural  music  in  accords  of  measure  of  diapason,  prolations,  triple 
and  dyatesseron.  That  heavenly  harmony  appeared  to  be  artifi- 
cial music.  In  this  gladful  recreation  I  continued  till  Phoebus 
was  descended  under  the  west  north  west  oblique  horizon,  whilk 
was  entered  that  same  day  in  the  xxv.  degree  of  the  sign  of 
gemini,  distant  five  degrees  from  our  summer  solstice,  called  the 
boreal  tropic  of  cancer,  the  whilk,  by  astrological  computation, 
accords  with  the  sixth  day  of  June.  Thereafter  I  entered  in  ane 
green  forest,  to  contemplate  the  tender  young  fruits  of  green 
trees,  because  the  boreal  blasts  of  the  three  borrowing  days  of 
March  had  chased  the  fragrant  flowers  of  every  fruit  tree  far 
athwart  the  fields.  Of  this  sort  I  did  pace  up  and  down  but 
sleep,  the  most  part  of  the  mirk  night.  Instantly  thereafter  I 
perceived  the  messengers  of  the  red  aurora,  whilk  through  the 
VOL.  I        241  R 


242  ENGLISH  PROSE 


might  of  Titan  had  pierced  the  crepuscle  line  matutine  of  the 
north  north  east  horizon,  whilk  was  occasion  that  the  stars  and 
planets,  the  dominators  of  the  night,  absented  them,  and  durst 
not  be  seen  in  our  hemisphere  for  dread  of  his  awful  golden  face. 
And  also  fair  Diana,  the  lantern  of  the  night,  became  dim  and 
pale  when  Titan  had  extinct  the  light  of  her  lamp  on  the  clear 
day.  For  from  time  that  his  lustrant  beams  were  elevated  four 
degrees  above  our  oblique  horizon,  every  planet  of  our  hemisphere 
became  obscure,  and  also  all  corrupt  humidities  and  caliginous 
fumes  and  infected  vapours  that  had  been  generated  in  the 
second  region  of  the  air  when  Titan  was  visiand  antipodes. 
They  consumed  for  sorrow  when  they  saw  ane  sight  of  his  golden 
shape.  The  green  fields,  for  great  drought,  drank  up  the  drops 
of  the  fresh  dew,  whilk  of  before  had  made  dykes  and  dales  very 
dank.  Thereafter  I  heard  the  rumour  of  raviage  fowls  and  of 
beasts  that  made  great  beir^  whilk  passed  beside  burns  and  bogs, 
on  green  banks  to  seek  their'  sustentation.  Their  brutal  sound 
did  redound  to  the  high  skies,  while  the  deep  how  caverns  of 
cleuchs  and  rocky  crags  answered  with  a  high  note  of  that  same 
sound  as  they  beasts  had  blown.  It  appeared  by  presuming  and 
supposing,  that  blabbering  Echo  had  been  hid  in  a  how  hole, 
crying  her  half  answer,  when  Narcissus  right  sorry  sought  for  his 
servants,  when  he  was  in  a  forest  far  from  any  folks,  and  there- 
after for  love  of  Echo  he  drowned  in  a  draw-well. 


GEORGE  CAVENDISH 


c.  1500 — c.  1 56 1 

[Cavendish  was  made  gentleman  usher  to  Cardinal  Wolsey  in  1526  or  1527, 
and  kept  his  post  till  Wolsey' s  death  in  1530,  remaining  always  in  close 
attendance  on  his  master.  After  an  examination  before  the  Privy  Council  in 
regard  to  the  last  days  of  Wolsey's  life.  Cavendish  retired  to  his  own  house  at 
Glansford  in  Suffolk,  and  kept  out  of  the  way  of  politics.  The  Life  of 
Wolsey  was  written  in  1557.] 

Cavendish  in  his  Life  of  Wolsey  did  not  misuse  the  great  oppor- 
tunities presented  to  him  for  writing  a  notable  book.  He  was 
not  a  trained  man  of  letters,  but  he  had  a  natural  gift  for  telling 
a  story — a  literary  gift  which  is  closely  connected  with  his  straight- 
forward and  simple  character.  He  is  the  "  loyal  servitor," 
wholly  interested  in  the  great  man  who  gave  employment  for  the 
busiest  and  fullest  years  of  his  life.  His  mind  is  possessed  with 
his  subject,  and  as  his  mind  is  sound,  strong,  and  very  little 
corrupted  by  any  rhetoric,  he  reproduces  in  his  story  exactly 
what  one  wants.  He  tells  how  people  behaved  and  what  they 
said  to  one  another,  not  reducing  the  lively  details  into  the 
abstract  language  of  the  dignified  historian.  King  Henry  appears 
in  Cavendish's  narrative  with  the  aspect  and  manner  that  he  had 
to  those  who  saw  him  with  their  own  eyes,  and  knew  him  in  a 
different  way  from  ours,  who  in  some  ways  know  so  much  more 
about  him  than  they  did.  He  comes  and  finds  Cavendish  leaning 
against  a  tree  "  in  a  study,"  and  claps  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
calls  him  by  his  name,  and  then  goes  back  to  his  shooting.  He 
talks  to  Cavendish  for  an  hour  or  more  within  the  garden  postern 
gate  of  Hampton  Court,  and  we  hear  what  they  talked  about, 
and  learn  how  familiar  the  great  king's  manner  was  with  his 
servants    when    he    chose.       "  Three    may,"    quoth    he,    "  keep 

243 


244  ENGLISH  PROSE 


counsel   if  two  be  away,  and  if  I   thought  that  my  cap  knew  my 
counsel,  I  would  cast  it  into  the  fire  and  burn  it." 

Cavendish  acknowledges  his  constant  desire  "  to  see  and  be 
acquainted  with  strangers,  in  especial  with  men  in  honour  and 
authority,"  which  is  one  of  the  foundations  of  his  strength  as  a 
writer  of  memoirs  ;  and  from  almost  every  page  of  his  book  we 
may  draw  evidence  of  the  keenness  of  his  impressions.  He 
shares  in  the  taste  of  the  age  for  all  sorts  of  pageantry  and 
splendour,  and  is  never  tired  of  describing  the  state  kept  by  his 
patron.  He  has  an  eye  for  dress  ;  in  the  critical  moment  of  his 
interview  with  the  king  he  does  not  omit  to  notice  his  nightgown 
of  russet  velvet  furred  with  sables.  One  of  the  best  of  all  his 
sketches  is  that  belonging  to  the  embassy  in  France,  where  he 
describes  the  interior  of  the  great  house  that  afforded  him 
courteous  entertainment.  It  is  an  admirable  passage,  rendering 
with  absolute  fidelity  a  vivid  hour  of  Cavendish's  experience — a 
pleasant,  accidental  meeting  with  high-bred  and  high-spirited 
people  in  a  French  castle,  where  there  was  enough  to  look  at  "  in 
bower  and  hall."  The  courtesy  and  humanity  of  this  passage 
from  true  history  recall  one  of  the  most  memorable  episodes  in 
chivalrous  romance — the  entertainment  of  Geraint  by  the  father 
and  mother  of  Enid. 

The  style  of  Cavendish's  book,  which  at  its  best  is  a  good 
narrative  style,  is  occasionally  injured  by  various  laxities  of 
syntax  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  by  somewhat  incongru- 
ous efforts  of  rhetoric.  There  is  some  mythological  ornament : 
"Wherefore  she  (Fortune)  procured  Venus,  the  insatiate  goddess, 
to  be  her  instrument "  ;  there  are  some  appeals  and  outcries  : 
"  O  wavering  to  newfangled  multitude  !  is  it  not  a  wonder  to 
consider  the  inconstant  mutability  of  this  uncertain  world?" 
But  these  things  do  not  really  take  away  the  freshness  of  his 
portrait  of  the  great  minister. 

W.   P.   Ker. 


A  GREAT  HOUSE   IN   FRANCE 

Then  it  was  determined  that  the  king  and  my  lord  should 
remove  out  of  Amiens,  and  so  they  did,  to  a  town  or  city  called 
Compeigne,  which  was  more  than  twenty  English  miles  from 
thence  ;  unto  which  town  I  was  sent  to  prepare  my  lord's  lodging. 
And  as  I  rode  on  my  journey,  being  upon  a  Friday,  my  horse 
chanced  to  cast  a  shoe  in  a  little  village  where  stood  a  fair  castle. 
And  as  it  chanced  there  dwelt  a  smith,  to  whom  I  commanded 
my  servant  to  carry  my  horse  to  shoe,  and  standing  by  him 
while  my  horse  was  a -shoeing,  there  came  to  me  one  of  the 
servants  of  the  castle,  perceiving  me  to  be  the  cardinal's  servant 
and  an  Englishman,  who  required  me  to  go  with  him  into  the 
castle  to  my  lord  his  master,  whom  he  thought  would  be  very 
glad  of  my  coming  and  company.  Whose  request  I  granted, 
because  that  I  was  always  desirous  to  see  and  be  acquainted 
with  strangers,  in  especial  with  men  in  honour  and  authority,  so 
I  went  with  him  ;  who  conducted  me  unto  the  castle,  and  being 
entered  in  the  first  ward,  the  watchmen  of  that  ward,  being  very 
honest  tall  men,  came  and  saluted  me  most  reverently,  and 
knowing  the  cause  of  my  coming,  desired  me  to  stay  a  little 
while  until  they  had  advertised  my  lord  their  master  of  my  being 
there ;  and  so  I  did.  And  incontinent  the  lord  of  the  castle 
came  out  to  me,  who  was  called  Monsieur  Crequi,  a  nobleman 
born,  and  very  nigh  of  blood  to  King  Louis,  the  last  king  that 
reigned  before  this  King  Francis.  And  at  his  first  coming  he 
embraced  me,  saying  that  I  was  right  heartily  welcome,  and 
thanked  me  that  I  so  gently  would  visit  him  and  his  castle,  saying 
furthermore  that  he  was  preparing  to  encounter  the  king  and  my 
lord,  to  desire  them  most  humbly  the  next  day  to  take  his  castle 
in  their  way,  if  he  could  so  intreat  them.  And  true  it  is  that  he 
was  ready  to  ride  in  a  coat  of  velvet  with  a  pair  of  velvet  arming 
shoes  on  his  feet,  and  a  pair  of  gilt  spurs  on  his  heels.     Then  he 

245 


246  ENGLISH  PROSE 


took  me  by  the  hand,  and  most  gently  led  me  into  his  castle, 
through  another  ward.  And  being  once  entered  into  the  base 
court  of  the  castle,  I  saw  all  his  family  and  household  servants 
standing  in  goodly  order,  in  black  coats  and  gowns,  like  mourners, 
who  led  me  into  the  hall,  which  was  hanged  with  hand-guns,  as 
thick  as  one  could  hang  by  another  upon  the  walls  ;  and  in  the  hall 
stood  an  hawk's  perch,  whereon  stood  three  or  four  fair  goshawks. 
Then  went  we  into  the  parlour,  which  was  hanged  with  fine  old 
arras,  and  being  there  but  a  while,  communing  together  of  my 
Lord  of  Suffolk,  how  he  was  there  to  have  besieged  the  same,  his 
servants  brought  to  him  bread  and  wine  of  divers  sorts,  whereof 
he  caused  me  to  drink.  And  after,  '.'  I  will,"  quoth  he,  show  you 
the  strength  of  my  house,  how  hard  it  would  have  been  for  my 
Lord  of  Suffolk  to  have  won  it."  Then  led  he  me  upon  the  walls, 
which  were  very  strong,  more  than  fifteen  foot  thick,  and  well 
garnished  with  great  battery  pieces  of  ordnance  ready  charged  to 
be  shot  off  against  the  king  and  my  lord's  coming. 

When  he  had  showed  me  all  the  walls  and  bulwarks  about 
the  castle,  he  descended  from  the  walls,  and  came  down  into  a 
fair  inner  court,  where  his  genet  stood  for  to  mount  upon,  with 
twelve  other  genets,  the  most  fairest  and  best  that  I  ever  saw, 
and  in  especial  his  own,  which  was  a  mare  genet,  he  showed  me 
that  he  might  have  had  for  her  four  hundred  crowns.  But  upon 
the  other  twelve  genets  were  mounted  twelve  goodly  young  gentle- 
men, called  pages  of  honour  ;  all  bare-headed,  in  coats  of  cloth  of 
gold,  and  black  velvet  cloaks,  and  on  their  legs  boots  of  red 
Spanish  leather,  and  spurs  parcel  gilt. 

Then  he  took  his  leave  of  me,  commanding  his  steward  and 
other  his  gentlemen  to  attend  upon  me,  and  conduct  me  unto  my 
lady  his  wife  to  dinner.  And  that  done  he  mounted  upon  his 
genet,  and  took  his  journey  forth  out  of  his  castle.  Then  the 
steward,  with  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen,  led  me  up  into  a  tower 
in  the  gatehouse,  where  then  my  lady  their  mistress  lay,  for  the 
time  that  the  king  and  my  lord  should  tarry  there. 

I  being  in  a  fair  great  dining  chamber,  where  the  table  was 
covered  for  dinner,  and  there  I  attended  my  lady's  coming  ;  and 
after  she  came  thither  out  of  her  own  chamber,  she  received  me 
most  gently,  like  one  of  noble  estate,  having  a  train  of  twelve 
gentlewomen.  And  when  she  with  her  train  came  all  out,  she  said 
to  me,  "  Forasmuch,"  quoth  she,  "  as  ye  be  an  Englishman,  whose 
custom   is   in   your  country  to  kiss  all   ladies   and   gentlewomen 


GEORGE  CAVENDISH  247 

without  offence,  and  although  it  be  not  so  here  in  this  realm,  yet 
will  I  be  so  bold  to  kiss  you,  and  so  shall  all  my  maidens."  By 
means  whereof  I  kissed  my  lady  and  all  her  women.  Then  went 
she  to  her  dinner,  being  as  nobly  served  as  I  have  seen  any  of 
her  estate  here  in  England,  having  all  the  dinner  time  with  me 
pleasant  communication,  which  was  of  the  usage  and  behaviour 
of  our  gentlewomen  and  gentlemen  of  England,  and  commended 
much  the  behaviour  of  them,  right  excellently  ;  for  she  was  with 
the  king  at  Ardres,  when  the  great  encounter  and  meeting  was 
between  the  French  king  and  the  king  our  sovereign  lord  :  at 
which  time  she  was,  both  for  her  person  and  goodly  haviour, 
appointed  to  company  with  the  ladies  of  England.  To  be  short, 
after  dinner,  pausing  a  little,  I  took  my  leave  of  her,  and  so 
departed  and  rode  on  my  journey. 


THE   KING  ENTERTAINED  AT  YORK  PLACE 

And  when  it  pleased  the  king's  majesty,  for  his  recreation,  to 
repair  unto  the  cardinal's  house,  as  he  did  divers  times  in  the 
year,  at  which  time  there  wanted  no  preparations,  or  goodly 
furniture,  with  viands  of  the  finest  sort  that  might  be  provided 
for  money  or  friendship.  Such  pleasures  were  then  devised  for 
the  king's  comfort  and  consolation,  as  might  be  invented,  or  by 
man's  wit  imagined.  The  banquets  were  set  forth,  with  masks 
and  mummeries,  in  so  gorgeous  a  sort,  and  costly  manner,  that  it 
was  a  heaven  to  behold.  There  wanted  no  dames,  or  damsels, 
meet  or  apt  to  dance  with  the  maskers,  or  to  garnish  the  place 
for  a  time,  with  other  goodly  disports.  Then  was  there  all  kind 
of  music  and  harmony  set  forth,  with  excellent  voices  both  of  men 
and  children.  I  have  seen  the  king  suddenly  come  in  thither  in 
a  mask,  with  a  dozen  of  other  maskers,  all  in  garments  like 
shepherds,  made  of  fine  cloth  of  gold  and  fine  crimson  satin 
paned,  and  caps  of  the  same,  with  visors  of  good  proportion  of 
visnomy  ;  their  hairs,  and  beards,  either  of  fine  gold  wire,  or  else 
of  silver,  and  some  being  of  black  silk  ;  having  sixteen  torch- 
bearers,  beside  their  drums,  and  other  persons  attending  upon 
them,  with  visors,  and  clothed  all  in  satin,  of  the  same  colours. 
And  at  his  coming,  and  before  he  came  into  the  hall,  ye  shall 
understand,  that  he  came  by  water  to  the  water  gate,  without  any 


248  ENGLISH  PROSE 


noise  ;  where,  against  his  coming,  were  laid  charged  many 
chambers,  and  at  his  landing  they  were  all  shot  off,  which  made 
such  a  rumble  in  the  air,  that  it  was  like  thunder.  It  made  all 
the  noblemen,  ladies,  and  gentlewomen,  to  muse  what  it  should 
mean  coming  so  suddenly,  they  sitting  quietly  at  a  solemn  banquet; 
under  this  sort :  First,  ye  shall  perceive  that  the  tables  were  set 
in  the  chamber  of  presence,  banquet -wise  covered,  my  Lord 
Cardinal  sitting  under  the  cloth  of  estate,  and  there  having  his 
service  all  alone  ;  and  then  was  there  set  a  lady  and  a  nobleman, 
or  a  gentleman  and  gentlewoman,  throughout  all  the  tables  in  the 
chamber  on  the  one  side,  which  were  made  and  joined  as  it  were 
but  one  table.  All  which  order  and  devise  was  done  and  devised 
by  the  Lord  Sands,  Lord  Chamberlain  to  the  king  ;  and  also  by 
Sir  Henry  Guilford,  Comptroller  to  the  king.  Then  immediately 
after  this  great  shot  of  guns,  the  cardinal  desired  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  and  Comptroller,  to  look  what  this  sudden  shot 
should  mean,  as  though  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  They 
thereupon  looking  out  of  the  windows  into  Thames,  returned 
again,  and  showed  him,  that  it  seemed  to  them  there  should  be 
some  noblemen  and  strangers  arrived  at  his  bridge,  as  ambassadors 
from  some  foreign  prince.  With  that,  quoth  the  Cardinal,  "  I 
shall  desire  you,  because  you  can  speak  French,  to  take  the  pains 
to  go  down  into  the  hall  to  encounter  and  to  receive  them, 
according  to  their  estates,  and  to  conduct  them  into  this  chamber, 
where  they  shall  see  us,  and  all  these  noble  personages  sitting 
merrily  at  our  banquet,  desiring  them  to  sit  down  with  us,  and  to 
take  part  of  our  fare  and  pastime."  Then  they  went  incontinent 
down  into  the  hall,  where  they  received  them  with  twenty  new 
torches,  and  conveyed  them  up  into  the  chamber,  with  such  a 
number  of  drums  and  fifes  as  I  have  seldom  seen  together,  at  one 
time  in  any  masque.  At  their  arrival  into  the  chamber,  two  and 
two  together,  they  went  directly  before  the  cardinal  where  he  sat, 
saluting  him  very  reverently  ;  to  whom  the  Lord  Chamberlain  for 
them  said  :  "  Sir,  forasmuch  as  they  be  strangers,  and  can  speak 
no  English,  they  have  desired  me  to  declare  unto  your  Grace 
thus  :  they,  having  understanding  of  this  your  triumphant  banquet, 
where  was  assembled  such  a  number  of  excellent  fair  dames, 
could  do  no  less,  under  the  supportation  of  your  good  grace,  but 
to  repair  hither  to  view  as  well  their  incomparable  beauty,  as  for 
to  accompany  them  at  mumchance,  and  then  after  to  dance  with 
them,   and   so   to   have   of  them   acquaintance.     And,    sir,   they 


GEORGE  CAVENDISH  249 

furthermore  require  of  your  Grace  licence  to  accomplish  the  cause 
of  their  repair."  To  whom  the  cardinal  answered,  that  he  was 
very  well  contented  they  should  so  do.  Then  the  maskers  went 
first  and  saluted  all  the  dames  as  they  sat,  and  then  returned  to 
the  most  worthiest,  and  there  opened  a  cup  full  of  gold,  with 
crowns,  and  other  pieces  of  coin,  to  whom  they  set  divers  pieces 
to  cast  at.  Thus  in  this  manner  perusing  all  the  ladies  and 
gentlewomen,  and  to  some  they  lost,  and  of  some  they  won. 
And  thus  done,  they  returned  unto  the  cardinal,  with  great  rever- 
ence, pouring  down  all  the  crowns  in  the  cup,  which  was  about 
two  hundred  crowns  "At  all,"  quoth  the  cardinal,  and  so  cast 
the  dice,  and  won  them  all  at  a  cast  ;  whereat  was  great  joy 
made.  Then  quoth  the  cardinal  to  my  Lord  Chamberlain,  "  I 
pray  you,"  quoth  he,  "  show  them  that  it  seemeth  me  that  there 
should  be  among  them  some  noble  man,  whom  I  suppose  to  be 
much  more  worthy  of  honour  to  sit  and  occupy  this  room  and 
place  than  I  ;  to  whom  1  would  most  gladly,  if  I  knew  him, 
surrender  my  place  according  to  my  duty."  Then  spake  my 
Lord  Chamberlain  unto  them  in  French,  declaring  my  Lord 
Cardinal's  mind,  and  they  rounding  him  again  in  the  ear,  my 
Lord  Chamberlain  said  to  my  Lord  Cardinal,  "  Sir,  they  confess,' 
quoth  he,  "  that  among  them  there  is  such  a  noble  personage, 
whom,  if  your  Grace  can  appoint  him  from  the  other,  he  is  con- 
tented to  disclose  himself,  and  to  accept  your  place  most  worthily." 
With  that  the  cardinal,  taking  a  good  advisement  among  them, 
at  the  last,  quoth  he,  "  Me  seemeth  the  gentleman  with  the  black 
beard  should  be  even  he."  And  with  that  he  arose  out  of  his 
chair,  and  offered  the  same  to  the  gentleman  in  the  black  beard, 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand.  The  person  to  whom  he  offered  then 
his  chair  was  Sir  Edward  Neville,  a  comely  knight  of  a  goodly 
personage,  that  much  more  resembled  the  king's  person  in  that 
mask,  than  any  other.  The  king,  hearing  and  perceiving  the 
cardinal  so  deceived  in  his  estimation  and  choice,  could  not 
forbear  laughing  ;  but  plucked  down  his  visor,  and  Master 
Neville's  also,  and  dashed  out  with  such  a  pleasant  countenance 
and  cheer,  that  all  noble  estates  there  assembled,  seeing  the  king 
to  be  there  amongst  them,  rejoiced  very  much.  The  cardinal 
eftsoons  desired  his  highness  to  take  the  place  of  estate,  to  whom 
the  king  answered,  that  he  would  go  first  and  shift  his  apparel  ; 
and  so  departed,  and  went  straight  into  my  lord's  bedchamber, 
where  was  a  great  fire  made  and  prepared  for  him ;  and  therj 


250  ENGLISH  PROSE 


new  apparelled  him  with  rich  and  princely  garments.  And  in 
the  time  of  the  king's  absence,  the  dishes  of  the  banquet  were 
clean  taken  up,  and  the  tables  spread  again  with  new  and  sweet 
perfumed  cloths  ;  every  man  sitting  still  until  the  king  and  his 
maskers  came  in  among  them  again,  every  man  being  newly 
apparelled.  Then  the  king  took  his  seat  under  the  cloth  of 
estate,  commanding  no  man  to  remove,  but  sit  still,  as  they  did 
before.  Then  in  came  a  new  banquet  before  the  king's  majesty, 
and  to  all  the  rest  through  the  tables,  wherein,  I  suppose,  were 
served  two  hundred  dishes  or  above,  of  wondrous  costly  meats 
and  devices,  subtilly  devised.  Thus  passed  they  forth  the  whole 
night  with  banqueting,  dancing,  and  other  triumphant  devices,  to 
the  great  comfort  of  the  king,  and  pleasant  regard  of  the  nobility 
there  assembled. 

All  this  matter  I  have  declared  at  large,  because  ye  shall 
understand  what  joy  and  delight  the  cardinal  had  to  see  his  prince 
and  sovereign  lord  in  his  house  so  nobly  entertained  and  pleased, 
which  was  always  his  only  study,  to  devise  things  to  his  comfort, 
not  passing  of  the  charges  or  expenses.  It  delighted  him  so 
much,  to  have  the  king's  pleasant  princely  presence,  that  no  thing 
was  to  him  more  delectable  than  to  cheer  his  sovereign  lord,  to 
whom  he  owed  so  much  obedience  and  loyalty  ;  as  reason  re- 
quired no  less,  all  things  well  considered. 

Thus  passed  the  cardinal  his  life  and  time,  from  day  to  day, 
and  year  to  year,  in  such  great  wealth,  joy,  and  triumph,  and 
glory,  having  always  on  his  side  the  king's  especial  favour  ;  until 
Fortune,  of  whose  favour  no  man  is  longer  assured  than  she  is 
disposed,  began  to  wax  something  wroth  with  his  prosperous 
estate,  and  thought  she  would  devise  a  mean  to  abate  his  high 
port  ;  wherefore  she  procured  Venus,  the  insatiate  goddess,  to  be 
her  instrument.  To  work  her  purpose,  she  brought  the  king  in 
love  with  a  gentlewoman,  that,  after  she  perceived  and  felt  the 
king's  good  will  towards  her,  and  how  diligent  he  was  both  to 
please  her,  and  to  grant  all  her  requests,  she  wrought  the  cardinal 
much  displeasure  ;  as  hereafter  shall  be  more  at  large  declared. 
This  gentlewoman,  the  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  being  at 
that  time  but  only  a  bachelor  knight,  the  which  after,  for  the  love 
of  his  daughter,  was  promoted  to  higher  dignities.  He  bare  at 
divers  several  times  for  the  most  part  all  the  rooms  of  estimation 
in  the  king's  house  ;  as  Comptroller,  Treasurer,  Vice-Chamberlain, 
and  Lord  Chamberlain.     Then  was  he  made  Viscount  Rochford  ; 


GEORGE  CAVENDISH  251 


and  at  the  last  created  Earl  of  Wiltshire,  and  Knight  of  the  noble 
Order  of  the  Garter ;  and,  for  his  more  increase  of  gain  and 
honour,  he  was  made  Lord  Privy  Seal,  and  most  chiefest  of  the 
king's  privy  council.  Continuing  therein  until  his  son  and 
daughter  did  incur  the  king's  indignation  and  displeasure.  The 
king  fantasied  so  much  his  daughter  Anne,  that  almost  all  things 
began  to  grow  out  of  frame  and  good  order. 


AUGURY 

Or  ever  I  wade  any  further  in  this  matter,  I  do  intend  to  declare 
unto  you  what  chanced  him  before  this  his  last  trouble  at  Cawood, 
as  a  sign  or  token  given  by  God  what  should  follow  of  his  end,  or 
of  trouble  which  did  shortly  ensue,  the  sequel  whereof  was  of  no 
man  then  present  either  premeditate  or  imagined.  Therefore, 
forasmuch  as  it  is  a  notable  thing  to  be  considered,  I  will  (God 
willing)  declare  it  as  truly  as  it  chanced  according  to  my  simple 
remembrance,  at  the  which  I  myself  was  present. 

My  lord's  accustomed  enemies  in  the  court  about  the  king 
had  now  my  lord  in  more  doubt  than  they  had  before  his  fall, 
considering  the  continual  favour  that  the  king  bare  him,  thought 
that  at  length  the  king  might  call  him  home  again  ;  and  if  he  so 
did,  they  supposed  that  he  would  rather  imagine  against  them 
than  to  remit  or  forget  their  cruelty,  which  they  most  unjustly 
imagined  against  him.  Wherefore  they  compassed  in  their  heads 
that  they  would  either  by  some  means  dispatch  him  by  some 
sinister  accusation  of  treason,  or  to  bring  him  into  the  king's 
indignation  by  some  other  ways.  This  was  their  daily  imagina- 
tion and  study,  having  as  many  spials,  and  as  many  eyes  to 
attend  upon  his  doings  as  the  poets  feigned  Argus  to  have  ;  so 
that  he  could  neither  work  nor  do  any  thing,  but  that  his  enemies 
had  knowledge  thereof  shortly  after.  Now  at  the  last,  they 
espied  a  time  wherein  they  caught  an  occasion  to  bring  their 
purpose  to  pass,  thinking  thereby  to  have  of  him  a  great  advantage  ; 
for  the  matter  being  once  disclosed  unto  the  king,  in  such  a 
vehemency  as  they  purposed,  they  thought  the  king  would  be 
moved  against  him  with  great  displeasure.  And  that  by  them 
executed  and  done,  the  king,  upon  their  information,  thought  it 
good  that  he  should  come  up  to  stand  to  his  trial ;  which  they 


252  ENGLISH  PROSE 


liked  nothing  at  all  ;  notwithstanding  he  was  sent  for  after  this 
sort.  First,  they  devised  that  he  should  come  up  upon  arrest  in 
ward,  which  they  knew  right  well  would  so  sore  grieve  him  that 
he  might  be  the  weaker  to  come  into  the  king's  presence  to  make 
answer.  Wherefore  they  sent  Sir  Walter  Walshe,  knight,  one  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  king's  privy  chamber,  down  into  the  country 
unto  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  (who  was  brought  up  in  my 
lord's  house),  and  they  twain  being  in  commission  jointly  to 
arrest  my  lord  of  haiilt  treason.  This  conclusion  fully  resolved, 
they  caused  Master  Walshe  to  prepare  himself  to  this  journey 
with  this  commission,  and  certain  instructions  annexed  to  the 
same  ;  who  made  him  ready  to  ride,  and  took  his  horse  at  the 
court  gate  about  one  of  the  clock  at  noon,  upon  All-hallown  day, 
towards  the  north.  Now  am  I  come  to  the  place  where  I  will 
declare  the  thing  that  I  promised  you  before  of  a  certain  token  of 
my  lord's  trouble  ;  which  was  this. 

My  lord  sitting  at  dinner  upon  All-hallown  day,  in  Cawood 
Castle,  having  at  his  board's  end  divers  of  his  most  worthiest 
chaplains,  sitting  at  dinner  to  keep  him  company,  for  lack  of 
strangers,  ye  shall  understand,  that  my  lord's  great  cross  of  silver 
accustomably  stood  in  the  corner,  at  the  table's  end,  leaning 
against  the  tappet  or  hanging  of  the  chamber.  And  when  the 
table's  end  was  taken  up,  and  a  convenient  time  for  them  to 
arise  ;  in  arising  from  the  table,  one  Doctor  Augustine,  physician, 
being  a  Venetian  born,  having  a  boisterous  gown  of  black  velvet 
upon  him,  as  he  would  have  come  out  at  the  table's  end,  his 
gown  overthrew  the  cross  that  stood  there  in  the  corner,  and  the 
cross  trailing  down  along  the  tappet,  it  chanced  to  fall  upon 
Doctor  Bonner's  head,  who  stood  among  others  by  the  tappet, 
making  of  curtsy  to  my  lord,  and  with  one  of  the  points  of  the 
cross  razed  his  head  a  little,  that  the  blood  ran  down.  The 
company  standing  there  were  greatly  astonied  with  the  chance. 
My  lord  sitting  in  his  chair,  looking  upon  them,  perceiving  the 
chance,  demanded  of  me  being  next  him,  what  the  matter  meant 
of  their  sudden  abashment.  I  showed  him  how  the  cross  fell 
upon  Doctor  Bonner's  head.  "  Hath  it,"  quoth  he,  "  drawn  any 
blood  ?"  "Yea  forsooth,  my  lord,"  quoth  I,  "as  it  seemeth  me." 
With  that  he  cast  down  his  head,  looking  very  soberly  upon  me  a 
good  while  without  any  word  speaking  ;  at  the  last  quoth  he 
(shaking  of  his  head),  '■'■malum  omen"  ;  and  therewith  said  grace, 
and   rose   from  the  ta'.^ie,  and  went  into  his  bedchamber,  there 


GEORGE  CAVENDISH  253 

lamenting,  making  his  prayers.  Now  mark  the  signification, 
how  my  lord  expounded  this  matter  unto  me  afterward  at  Pomfret 
Abbey.  First,  ye  shall  understand,  that  the  cross,  which  belonged 
to  the  dignity  of  York,  he  understood  to  be  himself;  and  Augus- 
tine, that  overthrew  the  cross,  he  understood  to  be  he  that  should 
accuse  him,  by  means  whereof  he  should  be  overthrown.  The 
falling  upon  Master  Bonner's  head,  who  was  master  of  my  lord's 
faculties  and  spiritual  jurisdictions,  who  was  damnified  by  the 
overthrowing  of  the  cross  by  the  physician,  and  the  drawing  of 
biood  betokened  death,  which  shortly  after  came  to  pass  ;  about 
the  very  same  time  of  the  day  of  this  mischance,  Master  Walshe 
took  his  horse  at  the  court  gate,  as  nigh  as  it  could  be  judged. 
And  thus  my  lord  took  it  for  a  very  sign  or  token  of  that  which 
after  ensued,  if  the  circumstance  be  equally  considered  and  noted, 
although  no  man  was  there  present  at  that  time  that  had  any 
knowledge  of  Master  Walshe's  coming  down,  or  what  should 
follow.  Wherefore,  as  it  was  supposed,  that  God  showed  him 
more  secret  knowledge  of  his  latter  days  and  end  of  his  trouble 
than  all  men  supposed  ;  which  appeared  right  well  by  divers 
talks  that  he  had  with  me  at  divers  times  of  his  last  end.  And 
now  that  I  have  declared  unto  you  the  effect  of  this  prodigy  and 
sign,  I  will  return  again  to  my  matter. 


SIR  JOHN  CHEKE 

[Cheke  was  born  at  Cambridge  in  1514,  and,  after  passing  through  the 
Grammar  School  there,  entered  St.  John's  College,  of  which  he  became  Fellow 
in  1539.  His  influence  was  soon  strongly  felt  in  stimulating  the  intellectual 
activity  of  the  college,  already  great,  and  in  giving  to  its  younger  members  a 
very  decided  bent  towards  new  lines  of  study,  and  new  doctrines  in  religion. 
In  1540,  he  became  Regius  Professor  of  Greek  ;  but  in  1544  he  left  'the 
University  to  become  tutor  to  Prince  Edward.  That  position  he  retained  after 
the  young  prince  came  to  the  throne  ;  and  it  secured  for  him  not  only  abundant 
grants  from  the  lands  which  had  belonged  to  the  dissolved  religious  houses, 
but  also  further  preferment  at  Cambridge  (where  he  became  Provost  of  King's) 
and,  ultimately,  the  honour  of  knighthood,  and  the  position  of  Privy  Councillor 
and  Secretary  of  State.  With  less  caution  than  his  colleague  Cecil,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  deeply  involved  in  the  scheme  of  Northumberland  for  the  acces- 
sion of  Lady  Jane  Grey.  For  his  share  in  these  designs  he  was  imprisoned  : 
and  although  for  a  time  he  was  set  at  liberty,  and  allowed  to  travel  on  the 
Continent,  he  was  afterwards  induced  to  put  himself  within  the  power  of  the 
advisers  of  Queen  Mary,  and  was  forced  to  make  a  humiliating  recantation  of 
his  Protestant  views,  as  the  price  of  obtaining  his  freedom,  and  a  regrant  of 
some  of  the  lands  conferred  on  him  by  Edward.  He  survived  the  humiha- 
tion  for  a.  year  only,  and  died  in  1557.] 

The  name  of  Sir  John  Cheke  calls  for  mention  in  the  history  of 
English  prose  literature,  not  from  the  importance  of  such  of  his 
own  prose  as  remains,  but  from  the  consistent  testimony  which 
his  contemporaries  bear  to  his  wide  and  powerful  personal  influ- 
ence, and  to  the  impression  made  by  his  special  theories,  both  as 
to  literary  form  and  matter,  on  those  whose  literary  work  was 
greater  than  his  own.  When  we  examine  the  record  of  his  life 
and  achievements,  we  cannot  but  feel  somewhat  sceptical  as  to 
the  grounds  for  the  very  extravagant  eulogies  of  which  he  is  the 
subject,  and  are  fain  to  take  on  trust  the  verdict  of  Holinshed, 
that  he  was  "  a  gentleman  every  way,  in  complete  sort  satisfying 
the  report  blazed  abroad  of  him."  "  Surely  it  appeareth,"  adds 
Holinshed,  "  that  as  in  this  gentleman  there  was  an  extraordinary 
heap  of  laudable  gifts,  so  there  was  also  in  him  the  right  use  of 

255 


2S6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


them  all."  But  without  accepting  fully  praises  so  lavish,  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  trace  pretty  clearly  the  nature  of  his  influence. 
His  chief  work  at  St.  John's  College  was  the  promotion  of  the  study 
of  Greek  ;  but  this  was  to  him  only  a  means  to  a  very  definite 
end.  His  desire  was  to  make  his  college  a  centre  of  all  intellec- 
tual activities,  so  that  it  should  represent,  as  Ascham  tells  us  in 
describing  Cheke's  aim,  the  tmiversa  literarum  societas.  But 
Cheke  did  not  intend  that  St.  John's  should  be  a  mere  home  for 
students  ;  its  chief  work  was  to  be  the  training  of  men  for  the 
service  of  the  State.  By  the  bounty  of  Henry  VIII.  Cheke  him- 
self was  able  to  travel  in  his  early  manhood,  and  thus  accjuire 
the  knowledge  of  men  which  he  desired  to  add  to  the  knowledge 
to  be  derived  from  books  ;  and  under  his  guidance  St.  John's 
became  a  nursery  of  men  destined  to  take  a  high  place  in  the 
active  political  life  of  the  day.  His  conception  of  Greek  scholar- 
ship was  above  all  things  practical  ;  he  directed  the  reading  of 
his  students  to  those  books  of  which  the  subjects  would  best  fit 
them  for  the  duties  of  life ;  he  discarded  the  disquisitions  of  the 
schoolmen  and  the  niceties  of  the  grammarian  ;  and  he  seems  to 
have  impressed  his  auditors  chiefly  by  his  power  of  conveying  in 
terse  and  forcible  English  the  general  sense  of  a  Greek  author. 
To  draw  from  an  author  the  practical  teaching  he  had  to  give  ; 
to  use  him  as  a  guide  for  the  judgment  ;  to  select  for  the 
imitation  of  his  scholars  the  style  which  was  most  natural 
and  most  expressive,  this  was  Cheke's  aim  in  teaching  Greek. 
Judged  by  its  results,  in  the  traini»g  of  a  whole  troop  of  able 
men,  who  vied  with  each  other  in  venerating  their  teacher, 
and  who  made  St.  John's  College  illustrious,  Cheke's  work  was 
successful.  It  is  difficult  to  avoid  the  impression  that  his  atten- 
tion to  aspects  of  life,  very  different  from  that  of  the  student,  how- 
ever clear-sighted  and  practical,  was  not  always  without  a  baser 
ingredient.  He  certainly  made  full  and  constant  use  of  his 
opportunities  for  obtaining  grants  from  the  natural  generosity  of 
his  royal  pupil,  and  he  procured  a  mandaiinis  for  his  own  election 
as  Provost  of  King's,  against  the  most  distinct  provisions  of  the 
College  statutes.  He  was  not  backward  in  devising  those  flattering 
accounts  of  his  intellectual  eminence  by  which  Edward  was  taught 
to  believe  himself  a  miracle  of  learning  and  genius  ;  but  when 
we  are  told  that  Cheke  selected  the  Ethics  of  Aristotle  as  a  proper 
text-book  for  a  boy  of  thirteen,  we  are  tempted  to  think  that  the 
instruction  was  more  specious  than  real,  and  that  he  allowed  his 


SIR  JOHN  CHEKE  257 


veneration  for  royalty  to  get  the  better  of  his  common  sense. 
When  occasionally  compelled,  by  storms  at  Court,  to  retire  for  a 
time  to  the  University,  he  was  not  superior  to  the  usual  insincere 
commonplaces  upon  the  pleasure  of  abandoning  aims  of  ambi- 
tion for  a  restful  obscurity,  which  he  quitted  upon  the  first 
opportunity.  The  course  of  his  political  career  tempts  us  to 
judge  that  it  was  guided  mainly  by  self-interest,  and  that  his 
attachment  to  the  Reformed  Doctrine,  which  he  recanted  with 
every  circumstance  of  humiliation,  not  only  under  the  fear  of 
persecution,  but  also  with  the  prospect  of  restored  wealth,  was 
rather  the  natural  accompaniment  of  his  earlier  political  cir- 
cumstances, than  the  result  of  independent  or  very  sincere  con- 
viction. 

Cheke's  works  were  chiefly  in  Latin,  and  are  not  in  themselves 
of  much  importance.  The  style  of  his  Latin  verses  does  not 
indicate  that  he  gave  much  attention  to  the  niceties  of  composi- 
tion, but  we  are  told  that  he  had  the  power  of  imparting  to  his 
pupils  a  good  conception  of  the  subtleties  of  style.  His  remarks 
on  the  style  of  Sallust,  reported  by  Ascham,  show  an  acute  critic. 
Sallust's  writing,  he  said,  "  was  more  art  than  nature,  and  more 
labour  than  art.  And  in  his  labour  also  too  much  toil,  as  it  ivere 
iiiiih  an  uncontetitcd  care  to  ivrite  better  than  he  could j  a  fault 
conunon  to  vety  many  men."  To  the  limits  and  rules  oi  imitation 
in  literary  form  he  gave  special  care  ;  and  Ascham's  maxims  are 
reproduced  from  the  teaching  of  Cheke.  His  innovation  in  the 
pronunciation  of  Greek,  which  he  maintained  against  the  rigid 
conservatism  of  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  does  not  belong  to 
that  aspect  of  his  work  which  concerns  us  here.  But  the  spirit 
that  prompted  it  moved  him  to  attempt  the  hopeless  task  of 
reforming  English  spelling,  and  to  the  further  attempt  to  introduce 
an  affected  purism,  which  would  reject  all  words  of  other  than 
Saxon  origin.  He  left  an  incomplete  and  very  unsuccessful  trans- 
lation of  the  Gospels,  which  is  marred  by  both  these  pedantic 
eccentricities,  and  which  he  vainly  hoped  would  supersede  the 
earlier  translation.  The  most  considerable  English  work  which 
he  has  left  is  a  tract  on  the  Hurt  of  Sedition  (from  which  the 
following  e.xtracts  are  taken),  written  in  1549,  against  the  insur- 
rection then  raised  by  Ket  the  Tanner,  which  was  directed  partly 
against  the  enclosures,  and  partly  against  the  innovations  in 
religion.  It  is  written  in  terse,  homely,  and  forcible  prose ;  but 
although   it  shows  the  desire  to  avoid  undue  formality  of  style, 

VOL,  I  .s 


2-58  ENGLISH  PkOSE 


which  was  characteristic  of  Cheke  and  of  his  pupils,  it  does  not 
carry  this  homehness  to  the  length  of  an  affected  and  pedantic 
purism.  The  construction  is  often  very  irregular,  but  there  is  a 
considerable  straining  after  that  balance  of  one  clause  with 
another  by  similarity  of  endings,  which  becomes  more  marked  in 
Ascham. 

In  education  and  training,  in  the  part  he  took  first  in  the 
University  and  then  in  the  political  world,  in  his  knowledge  of 
the  great  European  movements  of  the  time,  gained  by  experience 
abroad,  Cheke  was  typical  of  his  day,  and  his  life  might  be 
paralleled  by  that  of  more  than  one  of  his  contemporaries.  In 
particular,  Sir  Thomas  Smith  was  born  in  the  same  year  ;  spent 
his  earlier  years  in  the  University  of  Gambridg'e  with  Cheke  ;  like 
him  became  a  lecturer,  and  was  strongly  interested  in  the  new 
studies ;  was  summoned,  as  Cheke  was,  to  the  Court,  as  the  ad- 
herent of  the  Protector  ;  became  an  equally  strong  supporter  of  the 
Reformed  Doctrine  ;  served  on  embassies,  as  Cheke  did.  He 
managed  to  steer  a  safer  course  in  the  world  of  politics  than  did 
Cheke,  and  lived  to  become  a  statesman  of  importance  under 
Elizabeth.  His  chief  contribution  to  English  prose  was  an 
account  of  the  English  Commonwealth,  written  also  in  French  for 
the  use  of  Prince  Conde.  The  book  shows  no  characteristic 
feature  of  style  ;  but  the  juxtaposition  of  two  men  like  Cheke  and 
Smith  is  interesting,  as  showing  the  increasing  influence  of  the 
Universities  at  once  in  literature  and  in  pubhc  life. 

H.   Craik. 


THE  LESSONS  OF  SEDITION 

Among  so  many  and  notable  benefits,  wherewith  God  hath 
already  and  plentifully  indued  us,  there  is  nothing  more  beneficial 
than  that  we  havr;  by  His  grace  kept  us  quiet  from  rebellion  at 
this  time.  For  we  see  such  miseries  hang  over  the  whole  state 
of  the  commonwealth,  through  the  great  misorder  of  your  sedi- 
tion, that  it  maketh  us  much  to  rejoice,  that  we  have  been  neither 
partners  of  your  doings,  nor  conspirers  of  your  counsels.  For 
even  as  the  Lacedaemonians  for  the  avoiding  of  drunkenness  did 
cause  their  sons  to  behold  their  servants  when  they  were  drunk, 
that  by  beholding  their  beastliness,  they  might  avoid  the  like  vice  : 
even  so  hath  God  like  a  merciful  father  stayed  us  from  your 
wickedness,  that  by  beholding  the  filth  of  your  fault,  we  might 
justly  for  offence  abhor  you  like  rebels,  whom  else  by  nature  we 
love  like  Englishmen.  And  so  for  ourselves,  we  have  great  cause 
to  thank  God,  by  whose  religion  and  holy  Word  daily  taught  us, 
we  learn  not  only  to  fear  Him  truly,  but  also  to  obey  our  king 
faithfully,  and  to  serve  in  our  own  vocation  like  subjects  honestly. 
And  as  for  you,  we  have  surely  just  cause  to  lament  you  as 
brethren,  and  yet  juster  cause  to  rise  against  you  as  enemies,  and 
most  just  cause  to  overthrow  you  as  rebels. 

For  what  hurt  could  be  done  either  to  us  privately,  or  to  the 
whole  commonwealth  generally,  that  is  now  with  mischief  so 
brought  in  by  you,  that  even  as  we  see  now  the  flame  of  your 
rage,  so  shall  we  necessarily  be  consumed  hereafter  with  the 
misery  of  the  same.  Wherefore  consider  yourselves  with  some 
light  of  understanding,  and  mark  this  grievous  and  horrible  fault, 
which  ye  have  thus  vilely  committed,  how  heinous  it  must  needs 
appear  to  you,  if  ye  will  reasonably  consider  that  which  for  my 
duty's  sake,  and  my  whole  country's  cause,  I  will  at  this  present  de- 
clare unto  you.  Ye  which  be  bound  by  God's  Word  not  to  obey 
for  fear  like  men-pleasers,  but  for  conscience'  sake  like  Christians, 
259 


26o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


have  contrary  to  God's  holy  will,  Whose  offence  is  everlasting 
death,  and  contrary  to  the  godly  order  of  quietness  set  out  to  us 
in  the  king's  majesty's  laws,  the  breach  whereof  is  not  unknown 
to  you,  taken  in  hand  uncalled  of  God,  unsent  by  men,  unfit  by 
reason,  to  cast  away  your  bounden  duties  of  obedience,  and  to 
put  on  you  against  the  magistrates,  God's  office  committed  to  the 
magistrates,  for  the  reformation  of  your  pretenced  injuries.  In 
the  which  doing  ye  have  first  faulted  grievously  against  God,  next 
offended  unnaturally  our  sovereign  lord,  thirdly  troubled  miserably 
the  whole  commonwealth,  undone  cruelly  many  an  honest  man, 
and  brought  in  an  utter  misery  both  to  us  the  king's  subjects,  and 
to  yourselves  being  false  rebels.  And  yet  ye  pretend  that  partly 
for  God's  cause,  and  partly  for  the  commonwealth's  sake,  ye  do 
arise,  when  as  yourselves  cannot  deny  ;  but  ye  that  seek  in  word 
God's  cause,  do  break  in  deed  God's  commandments  ;  and  ye 
that  seek  the  commonwealth  have  destroyed  the  commonwealth  : 
and  so  ye  mar  that  ye  would  make,  and  break  that  ye  would 
amend,  because  ye  neither  seek  anything  rightly,  nor  would  amend 
anything  orderly. 

He  that  faulteth,  faulteth  against  God's  ordinance.  Who  hath 
forbidden  all  faults,  and  therefore  ought  again  to  be  punished  by 
God's  ordinance.  Who  is  the  reformer  of  faults.  For  He  sailh. 
Leave  the  punishment  to  me,  and  I  will  revenge  them.  But  the 
magistrate  is  the  ordinance  of  God,  appointed  by  Him  with  the 
sword  of  punishment  to  look  straightly  to  all  evildoers.  And 
therefore  that  that  is  done  by  the  magistrate  is  done  by  the 
ordinance  of  God,  whom  the  Scripture  oftentimes  doth  call  God, 
because  he  has  the  execution  of  God's  office.  How  then  do  you 
take  in  hand  to  reform  ?  Be  ye  kings?  By  what  authority?  Or 
by  what  occasion  ?  Be  ye  the  king's  officers  ?  By  what  com- 
mission? Be  ye  called  of  God?  By  what  tokens  declare  ye  that  ? 
God's  Word  teacheth  us,  that  no  man  should  take  in  hand  any 
office,  but  he  that  is  called  of  God  like  Aaron.  What  Moses,  I 
pray  you,  called  you  ?     What  God's  minister  bade  you  rise  ? 

Ye  rise  for  religion.  What  religion  taught  you  that  ?  If  ye 
were  offered  persecution  for  religion,  ye  ought  to  fly  :  so  Christ 
teacheth  you,  and  yet  you  intend  to  fight.  If  ye  would  stand  in 
the  truth,  ye  ought  to  suffer  like  martyrs,  and  you  would  slay  like 
tyrants.  Thus  for  religion  you  keep  no  religion,  and  neither  will 
follow  the  counsel  of  Christ,  nor  the  constancy  of  martyrs.  Why 
rise  ye  for  religion  ?     Have  ye  anything  contrary  to  God's  Book  ? 


SIR  JOHN  CHEKE  261 


Yea,  have  ye  not  all  things  agreeable  to  God's  Word  ?  But  the 
new  is  different  from  the  old,  and  therefore  ye  will  have  the 
old.  If  ye  measure  the  old  by  truth  ye  have  the  oldest.  If 
ye  measure  the  old  by  fancy,  then  it  is  hard  ;  because  men's 
fancies  change,  to  give  that  is  old.  Ye  will  have  the  old  still. 
Will  ye  have  any  older  than  that  as  Christ  left,  and  His  apostles 
taught,  and  the  first  church  after  Christ  did  use  ?  Ye  will  have 
that  the  canons  do  establish.  Why  that  is  a  great  deal  younger 
than  that  ye  have,  of  later  time,  and  newlier  invented.  Yet  that 
is  it  that  ye  desire.  Why  then  ye  desire  not  the  oldest.  And  do 
you  prefer  the  bishops  of  Rome  afore  Christ,  men's  inventions 
afore  God's  law,  the  newer  sort  of  worship  before  the  older  ?  Ye 
seek  no  religion,  ye  be  deceived,  ye  seek  traditions.  They  that 
teach  you,  blind  you,  that  so  instruct  you,  deceive  you.  If  ye 
seek  what  the  old  doctors  say,  yet  look  what  Christ  the  oldest  of 
all  saith.  For  He  saith  ;  Before  Abraham  was  made  I  am.  If 
ye  seek  the  truest  way.  He  is  the  very  truth  ;  if  ye  seek  the 
readiest  way.  He  is  the  very  way  ;  if  ye  seek  everlasting  life.  He 
is  the  very  life.  What  religion  would  ye  have  other  now,  than 
His  religion  ? 

You  would  have  the  Bibles  in  again.  It  is  no  marvel,  your 
blind  guides  would  lead  you  blind  still.  Why,  be  ye  howlets  and 
backs^  that  ye  cannot  look  on  the  light  ?  Christ  saith  to  every 
one.  Search  ye  the  Scriptures,  for  they  bear  witness  of  Christ. 
You  say.  Pull  in  the  Scriptures,  for  we  will  have  no  knowledge  of 
Christ.  The  apostles  of  Christ  will  us  to  be  so  ready,  that  we 
may  be  able  to  give  every  man  an  account  of  our  faith.  Ye  will 
us  not  once  to  read  the  Scriptures,  for  fear  of  knowing  of  our  faith. 
Saint  Paul  prayeth  that  every  man  may  increase  in  knowledge  : 
ye  desire  that  our  knowledge  might  decay  again.  A  true  religion 
ye  seek  belike,  and  worthy  to  be  fought  for.  For  without  the 
sword  indeed  nothing  can  help  it,  neither  Christ,  nor  truth,  nor 
age  can  maintain  it.  But  why  should  ye  not  like  that  which 
God's  Word  establisheth,  the  primitive  church  hath  authorised, 
the  greatest  learned  men  of  this  realm  have  drawn,  the  whole 
consent  of  the  parliament  hath  confirmed,  the  king's  majesty  hath 
set  forth  1  Is  it  not  truly  set  out  ?  Can  ye  devise  any  truer  than 
Christ's  apostles  used  .''  Ye  think  it  is  not  learnedly  done.  Dare 
ye  commons  take  upon  you  more  learning  than  the  chosen  bishops 
and  clerks  of  this  realm  have  ?  Think  ye  folly  in  it  .-*  Ye  were 
wont  to  judge  your  parliament  wisest,  and  now  will  ye  suddenly 


262  ENGLISH  PROSE 


excel  them  in  wisdom  ?  Or  can  ye  think  it  lacketh  authority, 
which  the  king,  the  parliament,  the  learned,  the  wise  have  justly 
approved  ?  Learn,  learn  to  know  this  one  point  of  religion,  that 
God  will  be  worshipped  as  He  hath  prescribed,  and  not  as  we 
have  devised  ;  and  that  His  will  is  wholly  in  His  Scriptures, 
which  be  full  of  God's  spirit,  and  profitable  to  teach  the  truth, 
to  reprove  lies,  to  amend  faults,  to  bring  one  up  in  righteousness, 
that  he  that  is  a  God's  man  may  be  perfect  and  ready  to  all  good 
works.  What  can  be  more  required  to  serve  God  withal  ?  And 
thus  much  for  religion,  rebels. 

(From  The  Hurt  of  Sedition  how  grievous  it  is  to  a  Com- 
tnonwealth,  set  out  in  the  year  i  549.) 


TREASON  JUDGED   BY  ITS  FRUITS 

Look  upon  yourselves,  after  ye  have  wickedly  stept  into  this 
horrible  kind  of  treason,  do  ye  not  see  how  many  bottomless 
whirlpools  of  mischief  ye  be  gulft  withal,  and  what  loathsome 
kinds  of  rebellion  ye  be  fain  to  wade  through  ?  Ye  have  sent  out 
in  the  king's  name,  against  the  king's  will,  precepts  of  all  kinds, 
and  without  commandment  coriimanded  his  subjects,  and  unrulily 
have  ruled  where  ye  listed  to  command,  thinking  your  own  fancies 
the  king's  commandments,  and  rebels'  lusts  in  things  to  be  right 
government  of  things,  not  looking  what  should  follow  by  reason, 
but  what  yourselves  follow  by  affection.  And  is  it  not  a  dangerous 
and  a  cruel  kind  of  treason,  to  give  out  precepts  to  the  king's 
people?  There  can  be  no  just  execution  of  laws,  reformation  of 
faults,  giving  out  of  commandments,  but  from  the  king.  For  in 
the  king  only  is  the  right  hereof,  and  the  authority  of  him  derived 
by  his  appointment  to  his  ministers.  Ye  having  no  authority  of 
the  king,  but  taking  it  of  yourselves,  what  think  ye  yourselves  to 
be  ?  Ministers  ye  be  none,  except  ye  be  the  devil's  ministers,  for 
he  is  the  author  of  sedition. 

The  king's  majesty  intendeth  to  maintain  peace,  and  to  oppress 
war  ;  ye  stir  up  uproars  of  people,  hurliburlies  of  vagabonds,  routs 
of  robbers.  Is  this  any  part  of  the  king's  ministery  ?  If  a  vaga- 
bond would  do  what  he  lust,  and  call  himself  your  servant,  and 
execute  such  offices  of  trust,  whether  ye  would  or  no,  as  ye  have 
committed  unto  another  man's  credit,  what  would  every  one  of 


SIR  JOHN  CHEKE  263 


you  say  or  do  herein  ?  Would  ye  suffer  it  ?  Ye  wander  out  of 
houses,  ye  make  every  day  new  matters  as  it  pleaseth  you,  ye  take 
in  hand  the  execution  of  those  things,  God  by  His  Word  forbidding 
the  same,  which  God  hath  put  the  magistrates  in  trust  withal. 
What  can  ye  say  to  this  ?.  Is  it  sufferable  think  ye  ?  If  ye  told 
a  private  message  in  another  man's  name,  can  it  be  but  a  false 
lie  I  pray  you  ?  And  to  tell  a  feigned  message  to  the  common- 
wealth, and  that  from  the  king,  can  it  be  honest  think  ye  ?  To 
command  is  more  than  to  speak  :  what  is  it  then  to  command  so 
traitorous  a  lie  ?  This  then  which  is  in  word  a  deceitful  lie,  and 
in  deed  a  traitorous  fact,  noisome  to  the  commonwealth,  un- 
honourable  to  the  king,  mischievous  in  you,  how  can  ye  other- 
wise judge  of  it,  but  to  be  an  unheard  of  and  notable  disobedience 
to  the  king  :  and  therefore  by  notable  example  to  be  punished, 
and  not  with  gentleness  of  pardon  to  be  forgiven  ?  Ye  have 
robbed  every  honest  house,  and  spoiled  them  unjustly,  and 
piteously  wronged  poor  men  being  no  offenders,  to  their  utter 
undoing,  and  yet  ye  think  ye  have  not  broken  the  king's  laws. 
The  king's  majesty's  law  and  his  commandment  is,  that  every 
man  should  safely  keep  his  own,  and  use  it  reasonably  to  an 
honest  gain  of  his  living  :  ye  violently  take  and  carry  away  from 
men  without  cause,  all  things  whereby  they  should  maintain,  not 
only  themselves,  but  also  their  family,  and  leave  them  so  naked, 
that  they  should  feel  the  smart  of  your  cursed  enterprise,  longer 
than  your  own  unnatural  and  ungodly  stomachs  would  well  vouch- 
safe. By  justice  ye  should  neither  hurt  nor  wrong  man,  and  your 
pretenced  cause  of  this  monstrous  stir  is  to  increase  men's  wealth. 
And  yet  how  many,  and  say  truth,  have  ye  decayed  and  undone, 
by  spoiling  and  taking  away  their  goods  ?  How  should  honest 
men  live  quietly  in  the  commonwealth  at  any  time,  if  their  goods, 
either  gotten  by  their  own  labour,  or  left  to  them  by  their  friends, 
shall  unlawfully  and  unorderly,  to  the  feeding  of  a  sort  of  rebels, 
be  spoiled  and  wasted,  and  utterly  scattered  abroad  ?  The  thing 
that  ye  take  is  not  your  right,  it  is  another  man's  own.  The 
manner  of  taking  against  his  will  is  unlawful,  and  against  the 
order  of  every  good  commonwealth.  The  cause  why  ye  take  it 
is  mischievous  and  horrible,  to  fat  your  sedition.  Ye  that  take 
it  be  wicked  traitors,  and  common  enemies  of  all  good  order. 

If  he  that  desireth  another  man's  goods  or  cattle  do  fault, 
what  doth  he  (think  you)  whose  desire  taking  followeth,  and  is 
led  to  and  fro  by  lust,  as  his  wicked  fancy,  void  of  reason,  doth 


264  ENGLISH  PROSE 


guide  him  ?  He  that  useth  not  his  own  well  and  charitably,  hath 
much  to  answer  for  ;  and  shall  they  be  thought  not  unjust,  who 
not  only  take  away  other  men's,  but  also  misuse  and  waste  the 
same  ungodly  ?  They  that  take  things  privily  away,  and  steal 
secretly  and  covertly  other  men's  goodsj  be  by  law  judged  worthy 
death  ;  and  shall  they  that  without  shame  spoil  things  openly,  and 
be  not  afeard  by  impudency  to  profess  their  spoil,  be  thought 
either  honest  creatures  to  God,  or  faithful  subjects  to  their  king, 
or  natural  men  to  their  country  ?  If  nothing  had  moved  you  but 
the  example  of  mischief,  and  the  foul  practice  of  other  moved  by 
the  same,  ye  should  yet  have  abstained  from  so  licentious  and 
villanous  a  show  of  robbery,  considering  how  many  honester 
there  be,  that  being  loth  their  wickedness  should  be  blazed 
abroad,  yet  be  found  out  by  providence,  and  hanged  for  desert. 
What  shall  we  then  think  or  say  of  you  ?  Shall  we  call  you 
pickers,  or  hid  thieves  ?  nay  more  than  thieves,  day  thieves,  herd 
stealers,  shire  spoilers,  and  utter  destroyers  of  all  kinds  of  families, 
both  among  the  poor  and  also  among  the  rich. 

(From  the  Same.) 


THE  BLESSINGS  OF  PEACE 

O  NOBLE  peace,  what  wealth  bringest  thou  in,  how  do  all  things 
flourish  in  field  and  in  town,  what  forwardness  of  religion,  what 
increase  of  learning,  what  gravity  in  counsel,  what  devise  of  wit, 
what  order  of  manners,  what  obedience  of  laws,  what  reverence 
of  states,  what  safeguard  of  houses,  what  quietness  of  life,  what 
honour  of  countries,  what  friendship  of  minds,  what  honesty  of 
pleasure  hast  thou  always  maintained,  whose  happiness  we  knew 
not,  while  now  we  feel  thy  lack,  and  shall  learn  by  misery  to 
understand  plenty,  and  so  to  avoid  mischief  by  the  hurt  that  it 
bringeth,  and  learn  to  serve  better,  where  rebellion  is  once 
known  ;  and  so  to  live  truly,  and  keep  the  king's  peace.  What 
good  state  were  ye  in  afore  ye  began,  not  pricked  with  poverty, 
but  stirred  with  mischief,  to  seek  your  destruction,  having  ways 
to  redress  all  that  was  amiss  ?  Magistrates  most  ready  to  tender 
all  justice,  and  pitiful  in  hearing  the  poor  men's  causes,  which 
sought  to  amend  matters  more  than  you  can  devise,  and  were 
ready  to  redress  them  better  than  ye  could  imagine  ;  and  yet  for 


SIR  JOHN  CHEKE  265 


a  headiness  ye  could  not  be  contented  ;  but  in  despite  of  God, 
who  commandeth  obedience,  and  in  contempt  of  the  king,  whose 
laws  do  seek  your  wealth,  and  to  overthrow  the  country,  which 
naturally  we  should  love,  ye  would  proudly  rise,  and  do  je  wot 
not  what,  and  amend  things  by  rebellion  to  your  utter  undoing. 
What  states  leave  ye  us  in  now,  besieged  with  enemies,  divided 
at  home,  made  poor  with  spoil  and  loss  of  our  harvest,  murdered 
and  cast  down  with  slaughter  and  hatred,  hindered  from  amend- 
ments by  our  own  devilish  haste,  endangered  with  sickness  by 
reason  of  misorder,  laid  open  to  men's  pleasures  for  breaking  of 
the  laws,  and  feebled  to  such  faintness  that  scarcely  it  will  be 
covered. 

Wherefore,  for  God's  sake,  have  pity  on  yourselves,  consider 
how  miserably  ye  have  spoiled,  destroyed,  and  wasted  us  all  ;  and 
if  for  desperateness  ye  care  not  for  yourselves,  yet  remember  your 
wives,  your  children,  your  country',  and  forsake  this  rebellion. 
With  humble  submission  acknowledge  your  faults,  and  tarry  not 
the  extremity  of  the  king's  sword  ;  leave  off  with  repentance, 
and  turn  to  your  duties,  ask  God  forgiveness,  submit  ye  to  your 
king,  be  contented  for  a  commonwealth  one  or  two  to  die. 

(From  the  Same.) 


ROGER   ASCHAM 


[Roger  Ascham  was  born  in  Yorkshire  in  1515,  and  belonged  to  a  family 
of  some  repute.  He  owed  his  earlier  education,  and  the  means  of  subse- 
quently pursuing  a  university  career,  to  the  bounty  of  Sir  Anthony  Wingfield. 
In  1530  he  was  entered  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  then  the  foremost 
arena  of  the  new  studies,  with  which  were  generally  combined  the  new 
religious  tenets  of  the  day.  He  studied  Greek  under  Sir  John  Cheke,  and 
became  one  of  the  most  ardent  votaries  of  the  literature  which  was  then  stirring 
the  mental  activity  of  Europe  as  it  had  never  been  stirred  before.  In  1531  he 
became  a  Fellow  of  his  college,  and  subsequently  held  the  appointments  of 
Reader  in  Greek  and  of  Public  Orator.  In  1545  he  secured  the  favour  of 
Henry  V'lII.  by  his  Toxophilus,  which  was  intended  to  signalise  at  once  his 
patriotism  and  his  learning  ;  and  he  was  granted  a  pension  which  was  renewed 
by  Edward  VI.  In  1548  he  became  tutor  to  the  Princess  Elizabeth;  and 
exchanged  this  post  soon  after  for  that  of  Secretary  to  an  Embassy  to  the 
Court  of  Charles  V.  After  the  death  of  Edward  VI.  he  managed  to  secure, 
either  by  his  own  adroitness  in  concealing  his  Protestant  opinions,  or  by  a 
toleration  of  them  by  the  dominant  faction  that  is  surprising,  the  post  of 
Secretary  to  Queen  Mary  ;  nor  did  this  prevent  his  afterwards  receiving  further 
preferment  from  Elizabeth.  In  his  later  years  he  wrote  the  Schoolmaster, 
which  was  published  after  his  death.      He  died  in  1568.] 

The  very  considerable  fame — or  at  least  familiarity  in  the  mouths 
of  men — which  Ascham  has  attained  is  probably  due  to  several 
very  different  causes.  His  position  as  tutor  and  secretary  to 
two  successive  female  sovereigns,  and  his  acquaintance  with  that 
ill-fated  aspirant  to  a  throne  —  Lady  Jane  Grey  —  has  given  a 
certain  interest  to  his  life.  Besides  this  he  was  one  of  the 
earliest  systematic  writers  on  education — a  subject  which,  if  it 
does  not  always  clothe  itself  with  much  literary  grace,  is  at  least 
of  perennial  importance  and  concern.  Lastly,  he  illustrates,  per- 
haps more  completely  than  any  other  in  his  generation,  the 
peculiar  type  of  mind  that  was  bred  of  the  New  Learning.  His 
very  numerous  letters,  in  Latin  and  English,  from  the  university 
and  during  his  travels,  have  much  interest  of  detail,  although  they 
have  never  obtained  any  extended  audience.  But  they  show  us 
267 


268  ENGLISH  PROSE 


one  side  of  that  eager  curiosity  and  vigorous  outlook  which  he 
kept  upon  all  the  current  topics  of  the  day,  viewed  by  him  with 
the  critical  eye  bred  of  his  special  studies.  He  has  no  genius, 
not  even  any  marked  talent.  But  he  is  an  enthusiastic  student  ; 
and  he  is  not  a  student  only,  but  subordinates  all  his  gifts — his 
scholarship,  his  knowledge  of  courts,  his  experience  of  the  world 
— to  a  purely  literar)-  aim.  We  might  almost  claim  Ascham  as 
our  first  purely  literary  man.  He  is  an  enthusiast  for  letters. 
For  them  he  would  claim  the  best  youth  of  England.  He  is 
eager  to  dissociate  the  profession  from  any  taint  of  pedantry,  and 
to  drive  out  of  it  the  weaklings  who  betake  themselves  to  letters 
because  they  are  unfit  for  anything  else.  He  demands  for  the 
profession  a  long  and  arduous  apprenticeship.  He  is  determined 
to  maintain  for  it  a  severe  code  of  rules.  He  is  a  strict  con- 
servative in  literature,  and  will  permit  no  plea  of  individual  taste 
to  defend  eccentricities  of  critical  judgment.  "  He  that  can 
neither  like  Aristotle  in  logic  and  philosophy,  nor  Tully  in  rhetoric 
and  eloquence,  will,  from  these  steps,  likely  enough  presume  to 
mount  higher,  by  like  pride,  to  the  misliking  of  greater  matters." 
Literary  singularity  is  with  Ascham  a  crime.  His  literar)'  faith 
was  soundly  based  on  the  firm  foundation  of  a  scholarship,  not 
perhaps  of  great  grasp  or  minute  accuracy,  but  broad  and  intelli- 
gent. Ascham's  books  sufficiently  prove  his  classical  reading  to 
have  been  wider  and  more  thoroughly  digested  than  the  general 
university  standard  from  his  death  to  the  advent  of  Bentley. 

An  ardent  admirer  of  Athens,  and  in  a  less  degree  of  Rome, 
Ascham  found  nothing  to  attract  him  in  the  Romance  languages 
or  their  literature,  and  was  morbidly  jealous  of  their  influence 
upon  the  English  language.  It  is  to  this  that  we  must  ascribe 
the  almost  pedantic  simplicity  of  style,  amounting  often  to 
uncouthness,  which  he  affected.  But  this  uncouthness  was 
caused  by  no  neglect,  but  was  rather  sought  after  on  principle, 
and  perhaps  in  order  to  prevent  his  most  beloved  studies  from 
the  imputation  of  fostering  an  ornate  or  recondite  style.  No  man 
is  more  careful  to  inculcate  "all  right  congruity  ;  propriety  of 
words  ;  order  in  sentences  ;  the  right  imitation  ;  to  invent  good 
matter,  to  dispose  it  in  good  order."  His  rules  did  not  make 
Ascham  a  master  of  style,  but  they  at  least  show  him  to  have  had 
a  true  perception  of  its  qualities. 

The  Toxophilus  is  a  dialogue,  mculcating  the  necessity  of 
cultivating  the  art  of  archery  as  an  exercise  at  once  pleasant  and 


ROGER  ASCHAM  269 


patriotic.  But  its  real  object  is  to  show  the  learning  of  the 
author,  and  his  power  of  managing  a  dialogue  in  the  Platonic 
manner.  The  Schoohnaster,  which  treats  of  what  have  since 
become  well-worn  educational  problems,  has  a  more  distinct  and 
definite  aim,  as  its  subject  was,  indeed,  one  more  adapted  to 
literary  treatment.  It  is  interesting  not  only  as  embodying  a 
distinct  system  of  educational  rules,  but  also  as  giving  a  wide 
range  of  view  over  Ascham's  general  opinions  on  men,  manners, 
and  literature.  A  carefully  annotated  edition  of  the  two  books  is 
still  a  want  in  our  libraries  ;  and  such  an  edition  would  be  of 
immense  value  in  forming  a  judgment  as  to  the  character  and 
range  of  the  best  classical  scholarship  of  Ascham's  day. 

Some  peculiarities  of  his  style  are  worthy  of  special  remark. 
One  of  these  is  his  proneness  to  alliteration,  due  perhaps  to  his 
desire  to  reproduce  the  most  striking  features  of  the  early  English. 
"Much  music  marreth  men's  manners;"  "crafty  conveyance, 
brainless  brawling,  false  forswearing," — alliterative  phrases  like 
these  occur  constantly  in  his  pages.  A  tendency  of  an  almost 
directly  opposite  kind  is  the  balance  of  sentences  in  which  he 
imitates  classical  models.  Thus,  he  writes  of  "  our  king's  most 
royal  purpose  and  will,  which  in  all  his  statutes  generally  doth 
command  men,  with  his  own  mouth  most  gently  doth  exhort  men, 
by  his  great  gifts  and  rewards  greatly  doth  encourage  men,  with 
his  most  princely  example  very  oft  doth  provoke  all  other  men  to 
the  same."  Or  again  :  "  Young  children  use  not  (shooting)  ; 
young  men  for  fear  of  them  whom  they  be  under,  dare  not  ;  sage 
men  for  other  great  businesses,  will  not ;  aged  men  for  lack  of 
strength,  can  not  ;  rich  men  for  covetousness  sake,  care  not ; 
poor  men  for  cost  and  charge,  may  not  ;  masters  for  their  house- 
hold keeping,  heed  not  ;  servants  kept  in  by  their  masters,  shall 
not  ;  craftsmen  for  getting  of  their  living,  very  much  leisure  have 
not  ;  many  there  be  that  oft  begins,  but  for  unaptness  proves  not  ; 
most  of  all  which  when  they  be  shooters  give  it  over  and  list  not  ; 
so  that  generally  men  everywhere  for  one  or  other  consideration 
much  shooting  use  not."  These  two  are  perhaps  the  most  strik- 
ing characteristics  of  Ascham's  prose :  and  it  is  interesting  to 
observe  how  much  of  the  structure  of  the  sentence,  in  the  more 
elaborated  stages  of  English  prose   is  due  to  their  combination. 


H.  Craik, 


A  PLEA  FOR  MUSIC 

Toxophilus.  Therefore  either  Aristotle  and  Plato  know  not  what 
was  good  and  evil  for  learning  and  virtue,  and  the  example  of 
wise  histories  be  vainly  set  afore  us,  or  else  the  minstrelsy  of 
lutes,  pipes,  harps,  and  all  other  that  standeth  by  such  nice,  fine, 
minikin  fingering,  (such  as  the  most  part  of  scholars  whom  I  know 
use,  if  they  use  any,)  is  far  more  fit,  for  the  womanishness  of  it, 
to  dwell  in  the  Court  among  ladies,  than  for  any  great  thing  in 
it,  which  should  help  good  and  sad  study,  to  abide  in  the  univer- 
sity among  scholars.  But  perhaps  you  know  some  great  good- 
ness of  such  music  and  such  instruments,  whereunto  Plato  and 
Aristotle  his  brain  could  never  attain  ;  and  therefore  I  will  say 
no  more  against  it. 

Philologus.  Well,  Toxophile,  is  it  not  enough  for  you  to  rail 
upon  music,  except  you  mock  me  too  1  But,  to  say  the  truth,  I 
never  thought  myself  these  kinds  of  music  fit  for  learning  ;  but 
that  which  I  said  was  rather  to  prove  you,  than  to  defend  the 
matter.  But  yet  as  I  would  have  this  sort  of  music  decay  among 
scholars,  even  so  do  I  wish,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  that 
the  laudable  custom  of  England  to  teach  children  their  plain-song 
and  prick-song,  were  not  so  decayed  throughout  all  the  realm  as 
it  is.  Which  thing  how  profitable  it  was  for  all  sorts  of  men, 
those  knew  not  so  well  then  which  had  it  most,  as  they  do  now 
which  lack  it  most.  And  therefore  it  is  true  that  Teucer  saith  in 
Sophocles  : 

"  Seldom  at  all  good  things  be  known  how  good  to  be 
Before  a  man  such  things  do  miss  out  of  his  hands. " 

That  milk  is  no  fitter  nor  more  natural  for  the  bringing-up  of 
children  than  music  is,  both  Galen  proveth  by  authority,  and 
daily  use  teacheth  by  experience.  For  even  the  little  babes 
lacking  the  use  of  reason,  are  scarce  so  well  stilled  in  sucking 
their  mother's  pap,  as  in  hearing  their  mother  sing.  Again,  how 
270 


ROGER  ASCHAM  271 


fit  youth  is  made  by  learning  to  sing,  for  grammar  and  other 
sciences,  both  we  daily  do  see,  and  Plutarch  learnedly  doth  prove, 
and  Plato  wisely  did  allow,  which  received  no  scholar  into  his 
school  that  had  not  learned  his  song  before.  The  godly  use  of 
praising  God,  by  singing  in  the  church,  needeth  not  my  praise, 
seeing  it  is  so  praised  through  all  the  scripture  ;  therefore  now  I 
will  speak  nothing  of  it,  rather  than  I  should  speak  too  little  of  it. 

Beside  all  these  commodities,  truly  two  degrees  of  men,  which 
have  the  highest  offices  under  the  King  in  all  this  realm,  shall 
greatly  lack  the  use  of  singing,  preachers,  and  lawyers,  because 
they  shall  not,  without  this,  be  able  to  rule  their  breasts  for  every 
purpose.  For  where  is  no  distinction  in  telling  glad  things  and 
fearful  things,  gentleness  and  cruelness,  softness  and  vehement- 
ness,  and  such-like  matters,  there  can  be  no  great  persuasion. 
For  the  hearers,  as  Tully  saith,  be  much  afifectioned  as  he  is  that 
speaketh.  At  his  words  be  they  drawn  ;  if  he  stand  still  in  one 
fashion,  their  minds  stand  still  with  him  ;  if  he  thunder,  they 
quake  ;  if  he  chide,  they  fear  ;  if  he  complain,  they  sorry  with 
him  ;  and  finally  where  a  matter  is  spoken  with  an  apt  voice  for 
every  affection,  the  hearers,  for  the  most  part,  are  moved  as  the 
speaker  would.  But  when  a  man  is  alway  in  one  tune,  like  an 
humble  bee,  or  else  now  in  the  top  of  the  church,  now  down,  that 
no  man  knoweth  where  to  have  him  ;  or  piping  like  a  reed  or 
roaring  like  a  bull,  as  some  lawyers  do,  which  think  they  do  best 
when  they  cry  loudest,  these  shall  never  greatly  move,  as  I  have 
known  many  well-learned  have  done,  because  their  voice  was  not 
stayed  afore  with  learning  to  sing.  For  all  voices,  great  and 
small,  base  and  shrill,  weak  or  soft,  may  be  holpen  and  brought 
to  a  good  point  by  learning  to  sing. 

Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  they  that  stand  most  in  need  can 
tell  best ;  whereof  some  I  have  known,  which,  because  they 
learned  not  to  sing  when  they  were  boys,  were  fain  to  take  pain 
in  it  when  they  were  men.  If  any  man  should  hear  me,  Toxo- 
phile,  tl\at  would  think  I  did  but  fondly  to  suppose  that  a  voice 
were  so  necessary  to  be  looked  upon,  I  would  ask  him  if  he 
thought  not  nature  a  fool,  for  making  such  goodly  instruments  in 
a  man  for  well  uttering  his  words  ;  or  else  if  the  two  noble  orators 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero  were  not  fools,  whereof  the  one  did  not 
only  learn  to  sing  of  a  man,  but  also  was  not  ashamed  to  learn 
how  he  should  utter  his  sounds  aptly  of  a  dog  ;  the  other  setteth 


272  ENGLISH  PROSE 


out  no  point  of  rhetoric  so  fully  in  all  his  books,  as  how  a  man 
should  order  his  voice  for  all  kind  of  matters. 

Therefore  seeing  men,  by  speaking,  differ  and  be  better  than 
beasts,  by  speaking  well  better  than  other  men,  and  that  singing 
is  an  help  toward  the  same,  as  daily  experience  doth  teach, 
example  of  wise  men  doth  allow,  authority  of  learned  men  doth 
approve,  wherewith  the  foundation  of  youth  in  all  good  common- 
wealths always  hath  been  tempered  :  surely,  if  I  were  one  of  the 
Parliament-house,  I  would  not  fail  to  put  up  a  bill  for  the  amend- 
ment of  this  thing  ;  but  because  I  am  like  to  be  none  this  year, 
I  will  speak  no  more  of  it  at  this  time. 

(From  Toxophilus.') 

A  DEFENCE  OF  ARCHERY 

Philologus.  To  grant,  Toxophile,  that  students  may  at  times 
convenient  use  shooting  as  most  wholesome  and  honest  pastime, 
yet  to  do  as  some  do,  to  shoot  hourly,  daily,  weekly,  and  in  a 
manner  the  whole  year,  neither  I  can  praise,  nor  any  wise  man  will 
allow,  nor  you  yourself  can  honestly  defend. 

Toxophilus.  Surely,  Philologe,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you 
come  to  that  point  that  most  lieth  in  your  stomach,  and  grieveth 
you  and  others  so  much.  But- 1  trust,  after  I  have  said  my  mind 
in  this  matter,  you  shall  confess  yourself  that  you  do  rebuke  this 
thing  more  than  you  need,  rather  than  you  shall  find  that  any 
man  may  spend  by  any  possibility,  more  time  in  shooting  than 
he  ought.  For  first  and  foremost,  the  whole  time  is  divided  into 
two  parts,  the  day  and  the  night  ;  whereof  the  night  may  be  both 
occupied  in  many  honest  businesses,  and  also  spent  in  much 
unthriftiness,  but  in  no  wise  it  can  be  applied  to  shooting.  And 
here  you  see  that  half  our  time,  granted  to  all  other  things  in  a 
manner  both  good  and  ill,  is  at  one  swap  quite  taken  away  from 
shooting.  Now  let  us  go  forward,  and  see  how  much  of  half  this 
time  of  ours  is  spent  in  shooting.  The  whole  year  is  divided  into 
four  parts,  spring-time,  summer,  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  winter. 
Whereof  the  whole  winter,  for  the  roughness  of  it,  is  clean  taken 
away  from  shooting  ;  except  it  be  one  day  amongst  twenty,  or 
one  year  amongst  forty.  In  summer,  for  the  fervent  heat,  a  man 
may  say  likewise  ;  except  it  be  some  time  against  night.  Now 
then  spring-time  and  fall  of  the  leaf  be  those  which  we  abuse  in 
shooting. 


ROGER  ASCHAM  273 


But  if  we  consider  how  mutable  and  changeable  the  weather 
is  in  those  seasons,  and  how  that  Aristotle  himself  saith,  that 
most  part  of  rain  falleth  in  these  two  times  ;  we  shall  well  per- 
ceive, that  where  a  man  would  shoot  one  day,  he  shall  be  fain  to 
leave  off  four.  Now  when  time  itself  granteth  us  but  a  little 
space  to  shoot  in,  let  us  see  if  shootirig  be  not  hindered  amongst 
all  kinds  of  men  as  much  other  ways. 

First,  young  children  use  not  ;  young  men,  for  fear  of  them 
whom  they  be  under  too  much,  dare  not  ;  sage  men,  for  other 
greater  business,  will  not  ;  aged  men,  for  lack  of  strength,  can 
not ;  rich  men,  for  covetousness  sake,  care  not  ;  poor  men,  for 
cost  and  charge,  may  not  ;  masters,  for  their  household  keeping, 
heed  not  ;  servants,  kept  in  by  their  masters  ver>'  oft,  shall  not  ; 
craftsmen,  for  getting  of  their  living,  very  much  leisure  have  not ; 
and  many  there  be  that  oft  begins,  but,  for  unaptness,  proves 
not  ;  and  most  of  all,  which  when  they  be  shooters  give  it  over 
and  list  not  ;  so  that  generally  men  everywhere,  for  one  or  other 
consideration,  much  shooting  use  not.  Therefore  these  two 
things,  straitness  of  time,  and  every  man  his  trade  of  living,  are 
the  causes  that  so  few  men  shoot,  as  you  may  see  in  this  great 
town,  where,  as  there  be  a  thousand  good  men's  bodies,  yet  scarce 
ten  that  useth  any  great  shooting.  And  those  whom  you  see 
shoot  the  most,  with  how  many  things  arc  they  drawn,  or  rather 
driven,  from  shooting.  For  first,  as  it  is  many  a  year  or  they 
begin  to  be  great  shooters, 'even  so  the  great  heat  of  shooting  is 
gone  within  a  year  or  two  ;  as  you  know  divers,  Philologe,  your- 
self, which  were  some  time  the  best  shooters,  and  now  they  be 
the  best  students. 

If  a  man  fall  sick,  farewell  shooting,  may  fortune  as  long  as 
he  liveth.  If  he  have  a  wrench,  or  have  taken  cold  in  his  arm, 
he  may  hang  up  his  bow  (I  warrant  you)  for  a  season.  A  little 
blain,  a  small  cut,  yea  a  silly  poor  worm  in  his  finger,  may  keep 
him  from  shooting  well  enough.  Breaking  and  ill  luck  in  bows 
I  will  pass  over,  with  a  hundred  more  serious  things,  which 
chanceth  every  day  to  them  that  shoot  most,  whereof  the  least  of 
them  may  compel  a  man  to  leave  shooting.  And  these  things  be 
so  true  and  evident,  that  it  is  impossible  either  for  me  craftily  to 
feign  them,  or  else  for  you  justly  to  deny  them.  Then  seeing 
how  many  hundred  things  are  required  altogether  to  give  a  man 
leave  to  shoot,  and,  any  one  of  them  denied,  a  man  cannot  shoot ; 
and  seeing  every  one  of  them  may  chance,  and  doth  chance  every 

VOL.   I.  T 


274 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


day  ;  I  marvel  any  wise  man  will  think  it  possible  that  any  great 
time  can  be  spent  in  shooting  at  all. 

(From  the  Same.) 


FALSE  FLATTERY  OF  THE  SCOTS 

Toxophilus.  And  here  I  must  needs  remember  a  certain  French- 
man, called  Textor,  that  writeth  a  book  which  he  nameth  Officina, 
wherein  he  weaveth  up  many  broken-ended  matters,  and  sets  out 
much  rififrafif,  pelfery,  trumpery,  baggage,  and  beggary  ware,  clam- 
pered  up  of  one  that  would  seem  to  be  fitter  for  a  shop  indeed  than 
to  write  any  book.  And,  amongst  all  other  ill  packed  up  matters  he 
thrusts  up  in  a  heap  together  all  the  good  shooters  that  ever  hath 
been  in  the  world,  as  he  saith  himself ;  and  yet  I  trow,  Philologe, 
that  all  the  examples  which  I  now,  by  chance,  have  rehearsed  out 
of  the  best  authors  both  in  Greek  and  Latin,  Textor  hath  but  two 
of  them,  which  two  surely,  if  they  were  to  reckon  again,  I  would 
not  once  name  them,  partly  because  they  were  naughty  persons, 
and  shooting  so  much  the  worse  because  they  loved  it,  as  Domitian 
and  Commodus,  the  Emperors  ;  partly  because  Textor  hath  them 
in  his  book,  on  whom  I  looked  by  chance  in  the  book-binder's 
shop,  thinking  of  no  such  matter.  And  one  thing  I  will  say  to 
you,  Philologus,  that  if  I  were  disposed  to  do  it,  and  you  had 
leisure  to  hear  it,  I  could  soon  do  as  Textor  doth,  and  reckon  up 
such  a  rabble  of  shooters,  that  be  named  here  and  there  in  poets, 
.  as  would  hold  us  talking  whilst  to-morrow  ;  but  my  purpose  was 
not  to  make  mention  of  those  which  were  feigned  of  poets  for  their 
pleasure,  but  of  such  as  were  proved  in  histories  for  a  truth.  But 
why  I  bring  in  Textor  was  this  :  At  last,  when  he  hath  reckoned 
all  shooters  that  he  can,  he  saith  thus,  Petrus  Crinitus  writeth,  that 
the  Scots,  which  dwell  beyond  England,  be  very  excellent  shooters, 
and  the  best  bowmen  in  war.  This  sentence,  whether  Crinitus 
wrote  it  more  lewdly  of  ignorance,  or  Textor  confirmeth  it  more 
peevishly  of  envy,  may  be  called  in  question  and  doubt,  but  this 
surely  do  1  know  very  well,  that  Textor  hath  both  read  in  Gaguinus 
the  French  history,  and  also  hath  heard  his  father  or  grandfather 
talk  (except  perchance  he  was  born  and  bred  in  a  cloister)  after 
that  sort  of  the  shooting  of  Englishmen,  that  Textor  needed  not  to 
have  gone  so  peevishly  beyond  England  for  shooting,  but  might 
very  soon,  even  in  the  first  town  of  Kent,  have  found  such  plenty 


ROGER  ASCHAM  ^75 


of  shooting,  as  is  not  in  all  the  realm  of  Scotland  again.  The 
Scots  surely  be  good  men  of  war  in  their  own  feats  as  can  be  ; 
but  as  for  shooting,  they  neither  can  use  it  for  any  profit,  nor  yet 
will  challenge  it  for  any  praise,  although  Master  Textor,  of  his 
gentleness,  would  give  it  them.  Textor  needed  not  to  have  filled 
up  his  book  with  such  lies,  if  he  had  read  the  history  of  Scotland, 
which  Johannes  Major  doth  write  :  wherein  he  might  have  learned, 
that  when  James  Stewart,  first  king  of  that  name,  at  the  parliament 
holden  at  Saint  John's  town,  or  Perth,  commanding  under  pain 
of  a  great  forfeit,  that  every  Scot  should  learn  to  shoot  ;  yet 
neither  the  love  of  their  country,  the  fear  of  their  enemies,  the 
avoiding  of  punishment,  nor  the  receiving  of  any  profit  that  might 
come  by  it,  could  make  them  to  be  good  archers  which  be  unapt 
and  unfit  thereunto  by  God's  providence  and  nature. 

Therefore  the  Scots  themselves  prove  Textor  a  liar,  both  with 
authority  and  also  daily  experience,  and  by  a  certain  proverb  that 
they  have  amongst  them  in  their  communication,  whereby  they 
give  the  whole  praise  of  shooting  honestly  to  Englishmen,  saying 
thus  :  that  "  every  English  archer  beareth  under  his  girdle  twenty- 
four  Scots." 

But  to  let  Textor  and  the  Scots  go,  yet  one  thing  would  I  wish 
for  the  Scots,  and  that  is  this  ;  that  seeing  one  God,  one  faith,  one 
compass  of  the  sea,  one  land  and  country,  one  tongue  in  speaking, 
one  manner  and  trade  in  living,  like  courage  and  stomach  in  war, 
like  quickness  of  wit  to  learning,  hath  made  England  and  Scotland 
both  one,  they  would  suffer  them  no  longer  to  be  two  ;  but  clean 
give  over  the  pope,  which  seeketh  none  other  thing  (as  many  a 
noble  and  wise  Scottish  man  doth  know)  but  to  feed  up  dissension 
and  parties  betwixt  them  and  us,  procuring  that  thing  to  be  two, 
which  God,  nature,  and  reason  would  have  one. 

How  profitable  such  an  atonement  were  for  Scotland,  both 
Johannes  Major  and  Hector  Boetius,  which  wrote  the  Scots 
Chronicles,  do  tell,  and  also  all  the  gentlemen  of  Scotland,  with 
the  poor  commonalty,  do  well  know  ;  so  that  there  is  nothing  that 
stoppeth  this  matter,  save  only  a  itw  f^-eers  and  such  like,  which, 
with  the  dregs  of  our  English  Papistry  lurking  amongst  them, 
study  nothing  else  but  to  brew  battle  and  strife  betwixt  both  the 
people  ;  whereby  only  they  hope  to  maintain  their  papistical 
kingdom,  to  the  destruction  of  the  noble  blood  of  Scotland,  that 
then  they  may  with  authority  do  that,  which  neither  noble  man 
nor  poor  man  in   Scotland  yet  doth  know.      And  as  Scottish  men 


276  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  English  men  be  not  enemies  by  nature,  but  by  custom  ;  not 
by  our  good  will,  but  by  their  own  folly  ;  which  should  take  more 
honour  in  being  coupled  to  England,  than  we  should  take  profit 
in  being  joined  to  Scotland. 

(From  the  Same.) 


A  DIALOGUE   IN  THE  SOCRATIC   MANNER 

Philologus.  But  now,  Sir,  whereas  you  think  that  a  man,  in 
learning  to  shoot  or  anything  else,  should  rather  wisely  follow 
possibility,  than  vainly  seek  for  perfect  excellency  ;  surely  I  will 
prove  that  every  wise  man,  that  wisely  would  learn  anything, 
shall  chiefly  go  about  that  whereunto  he  knoweth  well  he  shall 
never  come.  And  you  yourself,  I  suppose,  shall  confess  the  same 
to  be  the  best  way  in  teaching,  if  you  will  answer  me  to  those 
things  which  I  will  ask  of  you. 

Toxophilus.  And  that  I  will  gladly  ;  both  because  I  think  it  is 
unpossible  for  you  to  prove  it,  and  also  because  I  desire  to  hear 
what  you  can  say  in  it. 

Philologus.  The  study  of  a  good  physician,  Toxophile,  I  trow 
be  to  know  all  diseases  and  all  medicines  fit  for  them. 

Tax.    It  is  so  indeed. 

Phil.  Because,  I  suppose,  he  would  gladly,  at  all  times,  heal  all 
diseases  of  all  men. 

Tox.    Yea,  truly. 

Phil.  A  good  purpose  surely ;  but  was  there  ever  physician  yet 
among  so  many  which  hath  laboured  in  this  study,  that  at  all  times 
could  heal  all  diseases  .'* 

Tox.    No,  truly  ;  nor,  I  think,  never  shall  be. 

Phil.  Then  physicians,  belike,  study  for  that  which  none  of 
them  Cometh  unto.  But  in  learning  of  fence,  I  pray  you  what  is 
that  which  men  most  labour  for  ? 

Tox.  That  they  may  hit  another,  I  trow,  and  never  take  blow 
their  self. 

Phil.  You  say  truth,  and  I  am  sure  every  one  of  them  would 
fain  do  so  whensoever  he  playeth.  But  was  there  ever  any  of 
them  so  cunning  yet,  which,  at  one  time  or  other,  hath  not  been 
touched. 

Tox.  The  best  of  them  all  is  glad  sometime  to  escape  with  a 
blow. 


ROGER  ASCHAM  277 


Phil.  Then  in  fence  also,  men  are  taught  to  go  about  that  thing, 
which  the  best  of  them  all  knoweth  he  shall  never  attain  unto. 
Moreover  you  that  be  shooters,  I  pray  you,  what  mean  you,  when 
ye  take  so  great  heed  to  keep  your  standing,  to  shoot  compass,  to 
look  on  your  mark  so  diligently,  to  cast  up  grass  divers  times,  and 
other  things  more  you  know  better  than  I.  What  would  you  do 
then,  I  pray  you  ? 

Tox.    Hit  the  mark  if  we  could. 

Phil.  And  doth  every  man  go  about  to  hit  the  mark  at  every 
shot  ? 

Tox.   By  my  troth  I  trow  so  ;  and,  as  for  myself,  I  am  sure  I  do. 

Phil.   But  all  men  do  not  hit  it  at  all  times. 

Tox.   No,  truly,  for  that  were  a  wonder. 

Phil.   Can  any  man  hit  it  at  all  times  .? 

Tox.    No  man,  verily^ 

Phil.  Then  belikely,  to  hit  the  prick  always  is  unpossible.  For 
that  is  called  unpossible  which  is  in  no  man  his  power  to  do. 

Tox.   Unpossible  indeed. 

Phil.    But  to  shoot  wide  and  far  of  the  mark  is  a  thing  possible. 

Tox.    No  man  will  deny  that. 

Phil.   But  yet  to  hit  the  mark  always  were  an  excellent  thing. 

Tox.   Excellent,  surely. 

Phil.  Then  I  am  sure  those  be  wiser  men  which  covet  to  shoot 
wide,  than  those  which  covet  to  hit  the  prick. 

Tox.   Why  so,  I  pray  you .'' 

Phil.  Because  to  shoot  wide  is  a  thing  possible,  and  therefore, 
as  you  say  yourself,  of  every  wise  man  to  be  followed.  And  as 
for  hitting  the  prick,  because  it  is  unpossible,  it  were  a  vain  thing 
to  go  about  it  in  good  sadness,  Toxophile  ;  thus  you  see  that  a 
man  might  go  through  all  crafts  and  sciences,  and  prove  that  any 
man  in  his  science  coveteth  that  which  he  shall  never  get. 

Tox.  By  my  troth  (as  you  say)  I  cannot  deny  but  they  do  so  ; 
but  why  and  wherefore  they  should  do  so,  I  cannot  learn. 

Phil.  I  will  tell  you.  Every  craft  and  science  standeth  in  two 
things  :  in  knowing  of  his  craft,  and  working  of  his  craft  ;  for 
perfect  knowledge  bringeth  a  man  to  perfect  working :  this  know 
painters,  carvers,  tailors,  shoemakers,  and  all  other  craftsmen,  to 
be  true.  Now,  in  every  craft  there  is  a  perfect  excellency,  which 
may  be  better  known  in  a  man's  mind,  than  followed  in  a  man's 
deed.-  This  perfectness,  because  it  is  generally  laid  as  a  broad 
wide  example  afore  all  men,  no  one  particular  man  is  able  to  com- 


278  ENGLISH  PROSE 


pass  it  ;  and,  as  it  is  general  to  all  men,  so  it  is  perpetual  for  all 
time,  which  proveth  it  a  thing  for  man  unpossible  ;  although  not 
for  the  capacity  of  our  thinking,  which  is  heavenly,  yet  surely  for 
the  ability  of  our  working,  which  is  worldly.  God  giveth  not  full 
perfectness  to  one  man  (saith  Tully)  lest  if  one  man  had  all  in  any 
one  science,  there  should  be  nothing  left  for  another.  Yet  God 
suffereth  us  to  have  the  perfect  knowledge  of  it,  that  such  a  know- 
ledge, diligently  followed,  might  bring  forth,  according  as  a  man 
doth  labour,  perfect  working.  And  who  is  he,  that,  in  learnmg  to 
write,  would  forsake  an  excellent  example  and  follow  a  worse  ? 
Therefore,  seeing  perfectness  itself  is  an  example  for  us,  let  every 
man  study  how  he  may  come  nigh  it,  which  is  a  point  of  wisdom, 
not  reason  with  God  why  he  may  not  attain  unto  it,  which  is  vain 
curiosity, 

(From  the  Same.) 


WHAT  WE   MAY  LEARN   FROM  ATHENS 

Athens,  by  this  discipline  and  good  ordering  of  youth,  did 
breed  up,  within  the  circuit  of  that  one  city,  within  the  compass  of 
one  hundred  year,  within  the  memory  of  one  man's  life,  so  many 
notable  captains  in  war,  for  worthiness,  wisdom,  and  learning,  as 
be  scarce  matchable,  no,  not  in  the  state  of  Rome,  in  the  compass 
of  those  seven  hundred  years,  when  it  flourished  most. 

And  because  I  will  not  only  say  it,  but  also  prove  it,  the  names 
of  them  be  these  :  Miltiades,  Themistocles,  Xanthippus,  Pericles, 
Cimon,  Alcibiades,  Thrasybulus,  Conon,  Iphicrates,  Xenophon, 
Timotheus,  Theopompus,  Demetrius,  and  divers  other  more  ;  of 
which  every  one  may  justly  be  spoken  that  worthy  praise  which 
was  given  to  Scipio  Africanus,  who  Cicero  doubteth,  "  whether  he 
were  more  noble  captain  in  war,  or  more  eloquent  and  wise 
counsellor  in  peace."  And  if  ye  believe  not  me,  read  diligently 
vEmilius  Probus  in  Latin,  and  Plutarch  in  Greek  ;  which  two  had 
no  cause  either  to  flatter  or  lie  upon  any  of  those  which  I  have 
recited. 

And  beside  nobility  in  war,  for  excellent  and  matchless  masters 
in  all  manner  of  learning,  in  that  one  city,  in  memory  of  one  age, 
were  more  learned  men,  and  that  in  a  manner  altogether,  than  all 
time  doth   remember,  than  all  place  doth  afford,  than  all  other 


ROGER  ASCHAM  279 


tongues  do  contain.  And  I  do  not  mean  of  those  authors,  which 
by  injury  of  time,  by  negligence  of  men,  by  cruehy  of  fire  and 
sword,  be  lost  ;  but  even  of  those,  which  by  God's  grace  are  left 
yet  unto  us  ;  of  which,  I  thank  God,  even  my  poor  study  lacketh 
not  one.  As,  in  philosophy,  Plato,  Aristotle,  Xenophon,  Euclid, 
and  Theophrast  ;  in  eloquence  and  civil  law,  Demosthenes, 
^schines,  Lycurgus,  Dinarchus,  Deniades,  Isocrates,  Is;tus, 
Lysias,  Antisthenes,  Andocides  ;  in  histories,  Herodotus,  Thucy- 
dides,  Xenophon,  and,  which  we  lack  to  our  great  loss,  Theopompus 
and  Ephorus ;  in  poetry,  ^schylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides, 
Aristophanes,  and  somewhat  of  Menander,  Demosthenes'  sister's 
son. 

Now  let  Italian,  and  Latin  itself,  Spanish,  French,  Dutch,  and 
English,  bring  forth  their  learning,  and  recite  their  authorities  ; 
Cicero  only  excepted,  and  one  or  two  more  in  Latin,  they  be  all 
patched  clouts  and  rags,  in  comparison  of  fair  woven  broad-cloths  ; 
and  truly,  if  there  be  any  good  in  them,  it  is  either  learned, 
borrowed,  or  stolen  from  some  of  those  worthy  wits  of  Athens. 

The  remembrance  of  such  a  commonwealth,  using  such  dis- 
cipline and  order  for  youth,  and  thereby  bringing  forth  to  their 
praise,  and  leaving  to  us  for  our  example,  such  captains  for  war, 
such  counsellors  for  peace,  and  matchless  masters  for  all  kind  of 
learning,  is  pleasant  for  me  to  recite,  and  not  irksome,  I  trust,  for 
other  to  hear,  except  it  be  such  as  make  neither  account  of  virtue 
nor  learning. 

And  whether  there  be  any  such  or  no,  I  cannot  well  tell  :  yet 
I  hear  say,  some  young  gentlemen  of  ours  count  it  their  shame  to 
be  counted  learned  :  and  perchance  they  count  it  their  shame  to 
be  counted  honest  also  :  for  I  hear  say,  they  meddle  as  little  with 
the  one  as  with  the  other.  A  marvellous  case,  that  gentlemen 
should  so  be  ashamed  of  good  learning,  and  never  a  whit  ashamed 
of  ill  manners  !  Such  do  say  for  them,  that  the  gentlemen  of 
"France  do  so  ;  which  is  a  lie,  as  God  will  have  it  :  Langa^us  and 
Belkeus,  that  be  dead,  and  the  noble  Vidam  of  Chartres,  that  is 
alive,  and  infinite  more  in  France,  which  I  hear  tell  of,  prove  this 
to  be  most  false.  And  though  some  in  France,  which  will  needs 
be  gentlemen,  whether  men  will  or  no,  and  have  more  gentleness 
in  their  hat  than  in  their  head,  be  at  deadly  feud  with  both 
learning  and  honesty  ;  yet  I  believe,  if  that  noble  prince,  King 
Francis  the  First,  were  alive,  they  should  have  neither  place  in 
his  court,  nor  pension  in  his  wars,  if  he  had  knowledge  of  them. 


28o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


This  opinion  is  not  French,  but  plain  Turkish,  from  whence  some 
French  fetch  more  faults  than  this  ;  which  I  pray  God  keep  out 
of  England,  and  send  also  those  of  ours  better  minds,  which  bend 
themselves  against  virtue  and  learning,  to  the  contempt  of  God, 
dishonour  of  their  country,  to  the  hurt  of  many  others,  and  at 
length  to  the  greatest  harm  and  utter  destruction  of  themselves. 

Some  other,  having  better  nature  but  less  wit  (for  ill  commonly 
have  over  much  wit),  do  not  utterly  dispraise  learning,  but  they 
say,  that  without  learning,  common  experience,  knowledge  of  all 
fashions,  and  haunting  all  companies,  shall  work  in  youth  both 
wisdom  and  ability  to  execute  any  weighty  affair.  Surely  long 
experience  doth  profit  much,  but  most,  and  almost  only  to  him  (if 
we  mean  honest  affairs)  that  is  diligently  before  instructed  with 
precepts  of  well  doing.  For  good  precepts  of  learning  be  the  eyes 
of  the  mind,  to  look  wisely  before  a  man,  which  way  to  go  right, 
and  which  not. 

Learning  teacheth  more  in  one  year  than  experience  in  twenty  ; 
and  learning  teacheth  safely,  when  experience  maketh  more 
miserable,  than  wise.  He  hazardeth  sore  that  waxeth  wise  by 
experience.  An  unhappy  master  he  is  that  is  made  cunning  by 
many  shipwrecks  ;  a  miserable  merchant,  that  is  neither  rich  nor 
wise  but  after  some  bankrouts.  It  is  costly  wisdom  that  is  bought 
by  experience.  We  know  by  experience  itself,  that  it  is  a  mar- 
vellous pain  to  find  out  but  a  short  way  by  long  wandering.  And 
surely,  he  that  would  prove  wise  by  experience,  he  may  be  witty 
indeed,  but  even  like  a  swift  runner,  that  runneth  fast  out  of  his 
way,  and  upon  the  night,  he  knoweth  not  whither.  And  verily 
they  be  fewest  in  number  that  be  happy  or  wise  by  unlearned 
experience.  And  look  well  upon  the  former  life  of  those  few, 
whether  your  example  be  old  or  young,  who  without  learning  have 
gathered  by  long  experience  a  little  wisdom  and  some  happiness  ; 
and  when  you  do  consider  what  mischief  they  have  committed, 
what  dangers  they  have  escaped,  (and  yet  twenty  for  one  do  perish 
in  the  adventure,)  then  think  well  with  yourself,  whether  you 
would  that  your  own  son  should  come  to  wisdom  and  happiness 
by  the  way  of  such  experience  or  no. 

(From  the  Schoolmaster.) 


ROGER  ASCHAM  281 


THE  FORCE  OF  EXAMPLE 

Present  examples  of  this  present  time  I  list  not  to  touch  ;  yet 
there  is  one  example  for  all  the  gentlemen  of  this  court  to  follow, 
that  may  well  satisfy  them,  or  nothing  will  serve  them,  nor  no 
example  move  them  to  goodness  and  learning. 

It  is  your  shame  (I  speak  to  you  all,  you  young  gentlemen  of 
England)  that  one  maid  should  go  beyond  you  all  in  excellency 
of  learning  and  knowledge  of  divers  tongues.  Point  forth  six  of 
the  best  given  gentlemen  of  this  court,  and  all  they  together  show 
not  so  much  good  will,  spend  not  so  much  time,  bestow  not  so 
many  hours  daily,  orderly,  and  constantly,  for  the  increase  of 
learning  and  knowledge,  as  doth  the  Queen's  Majesty  herself. 
Yea,  I  believe,  that  beside  her  perfect  readiness  in  Latin,  Italian, 
French,  and  Spanish,  she  readeth  here  now  at  Windsor  more 
Greek  every  day,  than  some  prebendary  of  this  church  doth  read 
Latin  in  a  whole  week.  And  that  which  is  most  praiseworthy  of 
all,  within  the  walls  of  her  privy  chamber,  she  hath  obtained  that 
excellency  of  learning  to  understand,  speak,  and  write  both 
wittily  with  head,  and  fair  with  hand,  as  scarce  one  or  two  rare 
wits  in  both  the  universities  have  in  many  years  reached  unto. 
Amongst  all  the  benefits  that  God  hath  blessed  me  withal,  next 
the  knowledge  of  Christ's  true  religion,  I  count  this  the  greatest, 
that  it  pleased  God  to  call  me  to  be  one  poor  minister  in  setting 
forward  these  excellent  gifts  of  learning  in  this  most  excellent 
prince  ;  whose  only  example  if  the  rest  of  our  nobility  would 
follow,  then  might  England  be  for  learning  and  wisdom  in 
nobility,  a  spectacle  to  all  the  world  beside.  But  see  the  mishap 
of  men  ;  the  best  examples  have  never  such  force  to  move  to  any 
goodness,  as  the  bad,  vain,  light,  and  fond  have  to  all  illness. 

And  one  example,  though  out  of  the  compass  of  learning,  yet 
not  out  of  the  order  of  good  manners,  was  notable  in  this  court 
not  fully  twenty-four  years  ago  ;  when  all  the  acts  of  parliament, 
many  good  proclamations,  divers  strait  commandments,  sore 
punishment  openly,  special  regard  privately,  could  not  do  so 
much  to  take  away  one  misorder,  as  the  example  of  one  big  one 
of  this  court  did,  still  to  keep  up  the  same  :  the  memory  whereof 
doth  yet  remain  in  a  common  proverb  of  Birching  Lane. 


282  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Take  heed,  therefore,  ye  great  ones  in  the  court,  yea  though 
ye  be  the  greatest  of  all,  take  heed  what  ye  do,  take  heed  how  ye 
live  :  for  as  you  great  ones  use  to  do,  so  all  mean  men  love  to 
do.  You  be  indeed  makers  or  marrers  of  all  men's  manners 
within  the  realm.  For  though  God  hath  placed  you  to  be  chief 
in  making  of  laws,  to  bear  greatest  authority,  to  command  all 
others  ;  yet  God  doth  order,  that  all  your  laws,  all  your  authority, 
all  your  commandments,  do  not  half  so  much  with  mean  men,  as 
doth  your  example  and  manner  of  living.  And  for  example,  even 
in  the  greatest  matter,  if  you  yourselves  do  serve  God  gladly  and 
orderly  for  conscience  sake,  not  coldly,  and  sometime  for  manner 
sake,  you  carry  all  the  court  with  you,  and  the  whole  realm 
beside,  earnestly  and  orderly  to  do  the  same.  If  you  do  other- 
wise, you  be  the  only  authors  of  all  misorders  in  religion,  not 
only  to  the  court,  but  to  all  England  beside.  Infinite  shall  be 
made  cold  in  religion  by  your  example,  that  never  were  hurt  by 
reading  of  books. 

And  in  meaner  matters,  if  three  or  four  great  ones  in  court 
will  needs  outrage  in  apparel,  in  huge  hose,  in  monstrous  hats, 
in  garish  colours  ;  let  the  prince  proclaim,  make  laws,  order, 
punish,  command  every  gate  in  London  daily  to  be  watched  ;  let 
all  good  men  beside  do  every  where  what  they  can  ;  surely  the 
misorder  of  apparel  in  mean  men  abroad  shall  never  be  amended, 
except  the  greatest  in  court  will  order  and  mend  themselves  first. 
I  know  some  great  and  good  ones  in  court  were  authors,  that 
honest  citizens  of  London  should  watch  at  every  gate  to  take 
misordered  persons  in  apparel  ;  I  know  that  honest  Londoners 
did  so  ;  and  I  saw  (which  I  saw  then,  and  report  now  with  some 
grief)  that  some  courtly  men  were  offended  with  these  good  men 
of  London  :  and  (that  which  grieved  me  most  of  all)  I  saw  the 
very  same  time,  for  all  these  good  orders  commanded  from  the 
coilrt  and  executed  in  London  ;  I  saw,  I  say,  come  out  of  London 
even  unto  the  presence  of  the  prince,  a  great  rabble  of  mean  and 
light  persons  in  apparel,  for  matter  against  law,  for  making 
against"  order,  for  fashion,  namely  hose,  so  without  all  order,  as 
he  thought  himself  most  brave,  that  durst  do  most  in  breaking 
order,  and  was  most  monstrous  in  misorder.  And  for  all  the 
great  commandments  that  came  out  of  the  court,  yet  this  bold 
misorder  was  winked  at,  and  borne  withal  in  the  court.  I  thought 
it  was  not  well,  that  some  great  ones  of  the  court  durst  declare 
themselves  offended  with  good  men  of  London  for  doing  their 


ROGER  ASCHAM  283 


duty,  and  the  good  ones  of  the  court  would  not  show  themselves 
offended  with  ill  men  of  London  for  breaking  good  order.  I  found 
thereby  a  saying  of  Socrates  to  be  most  true,  "  That  ill  men  be 
more  hasty,  than  good  men  be  forward,  to  prosecute  their  pur- 
poses "  ;  even  as  Christ  himself  saith  of  the  children  of  light  and 
darkness. 

(From  the  Same.) 


BOOKS  THAT   DO   HURT 

St.  Paul  saith,  "  that  sects  and  ill  opinions  be  the  works  of  the 
flesh  and  fruits  of  sin."  This  is  spoken  no  more  truly  for  the 
doctrine  than  sensible  for  the  reason.  And  why  ?  For  ill  doings 
breed  ill  thinkings  ;  and  of  corrupted  manners  spring  perverted 
judgments.  And  how  t  There  be  in  man  two  special  things  ; 
man's  will,  man's  mind.  Where  will  inclineth  to  goodness,  the 
mind  is  bent  to  troth.  Where  will  is  carried  from  goodness  to 
vanity,  the  mind  is  soon  drawn  from  troth  to  false  opinion.  And 
so,  the  readiest  way  to  entangle  the  mind  with  false  doctrine,  is 
first  to  entite  the  will  to  wanton  living.  Therefore,  when  the 
busy  and  open  papists  abroad  could  not  by  their  contentious 
books  turn  men  in  England  fast  enough  from  troth  and  right 
judgment  in  doctrine,  then  the  subtile  and  secret  papists  at  home, 
procured  bawdy  books  to  be  translated  out  of  the  Italian  tongue, 
whereby  over-many  young  wills  and  wits  allured  to  wantonness, 
do  now  boldly  contemn  all  severe  books  that  sound  to  honesty 
and  godliness. 

In  our  forefathers'  time,  when  papistry,  as  a  standing  pool, 
covered  and  overflowed  all  England,  few  books  were  read  in  our 
tongue,  saving  certain  books  of  chivalry,  as  they  said  for  pastime 
and  pleasure  ;  which,  as  some  say,  were  made  in  monasteries  by 
idle  monks  or  wanton  canons.  As  one  for  example,  Morie 
Arthur,  the  whole  pleasure  of  which  book  standeth  in  two 
special  points,  in  open  man-slaughter  and  bold  bawdry.  In 
which  book  those  be  counted  the  noblest  knights,  that  do  kill 
most  men  without  any  quarrel,  and  commit  foulest  adulteries  by 
subtlest  shifts  :  as  Sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of  King  Arthur 
his  master  ;  Sir  Tristram,  with  the  wife  of  King  Mark  his  uncle  ; 
Sir  Lamerock,  with  the  wife  of  King  Lote,  that  was  his  own 
aunt.     This   is  good  stuff  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at,  or  honest 


284  ENGLISH  PROSE 


men  to  take  pleasure  at  :  yet  I  know,  when  God's  Bible  was 
banished  the  court,  and  Morte  Arthur  received  into  the  prince's 
chamber. 

What  toys  the  daily  reading  of  such  a  book  may  work  in  the 
will  of  a  young  gentleman,  or  a  young  maid,  that  hveth  wealthily 
and  idly,  wise  men  can  judge,  and  honest  men  do  pity.  And  yet 
ten  Mortf  Arthurs  do  not  the  tenth  part  so  much  harm,  as  one  of 
these  books  made  in  Italy  and  translated  in  England.  They 
open,  not  fond  and  common  ways  to  vice,  but  such  subtle, 
cunning,  new,  and  divers  shifts,  to  carry  young  wills  to  vanity, 
and  young  wits  to  mischief,  to  teach  old  bawds  new  school 
points,  as  the  simple  head  of  an  Englishman  is  not  able  to 
invent,  nor  never  was  heard  of  in  England  before,  yea,  when 
papistry  overflowed  all.  Suffer  these  books  to  be  read,  and 
they  shall  soon  displace  all  books  of  godly  learning.  For 
they,  carrying  the  will  to  vanity,  and  marring  good  manners, 
shall  easily  corrupt  the  mind  with  ill  opinions,  and  false  judg- 
ment in  doctrine  ;  first  to  think  ill  of  all  true  religion,  and  at  last 
to  think  nothing  of  God  himself;  one  special  point  that  is  to  be 
learned  in  Italy  and  Italian  books.  And  that  which  is  most  to 
be  lamented,  and  therefore  more  needful  to  be  looked  to,  there  be 
more  of  these  ungracious  books  set  out  in  print  within  these  few 
months,  than  have  been  seen  in  England  many  score  years  before. 
And  because  our  Englishmen  made  Italians  can  not  hurt  but 
certain  persons,  and  in  certain  places,  therefore  these  Italian 
books  are  made  English,  to  bring  mischief  enough  openly  and 
boldly  to  all  states,  great  and  mean,  young  and  old,  everywhere. 

(From  the  Same.) 


THOMAS  WILSON 

[Thomas  Wilson  was  born  at  Stroby  in  Lincolnshire,  educated  at  Eton, 
whence  he  was  elected  in  1541  to  King's  College,  Cambridge,  and  graduated 
in  1545-6;  and  became  a  Fellow  and  Master  of  Arts  1549.  While  in  resi- 
"dence  at  Cambridge  he  was  tutor  to  Henry  and  Charles  Brandon,  sons  of  the 
Duke  of  Suffolk,  whose  early  deaths  he  commemorates  in  Latin  and  English. 
In  1 55 1  he  published  The  Rule  of  Reason,  conteinyng  the  Arte  of  Logique, 
dedicated  to  King  Edward  VI.  In  1553  appeared  his  principal  work,  the 
Arte  of  Rhetoriqne,  dedicated  to  John  Dudley,  Earl  of  Warwick,  by  whom  he 
states  its  composition  was  suggested.  He  spent  the  years  of  Mary's  reign  in 
e.xile,  studying  both  at  Padua  and  Ferrara,  where  he  took  the  degree  of  LL.  D. 
in  civil  law  ;  was  seized  and  tortured  by  the  Inquisition  at  Rome,  escaping 
death  only  through  the  chance  conflagration  of  his  prison.  He  returned  to 
•England  under  Elizabeth,  who  made  him  successively  an  Ordinary  Master  of 
Requests,  Master  of  St.  Katherine's  Hospital  "nigh  the  Tower,"  Secretary 
of  State  for  four  years  with  Walsingham,  and  finally,  in  1579,  although  a 
layman,  Dean  of  Durham.  He  sat  on  commissions  concerning  trade  and 
schismatics  ;  and  wrote  a  Discourse  on  Usurye  in  1572.  He  served  for  several 
years  in  Parliament  ;  was  -Ambassador  on  various  occasions  to  Scotland, 
Portugal,  and  the  Netherlands,  where  he  witnessed  the  Sack  of  Antwerp  in 
November  1576,  and  wrote  an  account  of  it.  He  also  translated  the  Orations 
of  Demosthenes.  He  died  on  the  i6th  of  June  1581.  He  is  accused  of  trying 
to  plunder  the  revenues  of  his  Hospital  of  St.  Katharine's,  in  the  church  of 
which  Hospital  he  was  buried  without  a  monument.  ] 

Thomas  Wilson  belongs  to  that  earlier  academic  school  of 
Tudor  prose  writers,  whose  chief  characteristic  is  a  direct  and 
nervous  simplicity  and  purity  of  diction,  due  partly  to  a  grow- 
ing native  pride  in  the  English  tongue,  partly  to  the  revived 
study  of  Greek.  He  has  not  the  sweetness  and  Herodotean 
ease  of  More,  who,  though  a  forerunner  of  the  group,  represents 
its  style  as  a  historian.  He  has  not  the  homely  poignancy  of 
Latimer,  its  preacher,  nor  the  graceful  learning  of  Ascham,  its 
teacher,  with  whom  indeed  Wilson  has  most  in  common.  Versed 
in  travel,  in  trade,  in  the  region  of  practical  politics,  he  may,  how- 
ever, be  taken  to  stand  in  that  group  for  its  man  of  affairs. 

Learned  and  scholarly  enough,  but  of  that  order  of  scholars 
28s 


286  ENGLISH  PROSE 


who  are  keen  to  turn  every  shred  of  their  learning  to  some  worldly 
advantage,  languages  to  him  were  merely  a  school  to  turn  the 
tongue  into  a  lever,  to  discipline  the  mind  into  a  weapon,  the 
memory  into  an  armoury  of  examples. 

With  a  thinker's  wrath  at  the  pompous  affectations  of  the 
ignorant,  he  has,  above  all,  the  man  of  action's  scorn  for  verbiage. 
A  loyal  and  ambitious  servant  of  Elizabeth,  who  himself  was  to 
feel  the  Roman  rack,  the  newly-fashionable  jargon  from  overseas 
strikes  him  as  a  kind  of  disloyalty,  a  currency  of  malign  word- 
coiners,  a  papistry  of  phrases,  which  he,  as  High  Commissioner 
to  be,  does  well  to  stamp  out. 

In  one  whose  constant  reliance  was  on  his  wits,  whose  poverty 
obliged  him  to  plunder  the  hospital  of  which  he  was  master  and 
the  Deanery  on  which  as  a  layman  he  had  intruded  ;  who  was 
selected  to  carry  out  his  colleague  Walsingham's  less  savoury 
schemes  of  statecraft,  while  Walsingham  performed  more  honour- 
able parts,  we  must  not  be  surprised  to  find  certain  great  qualities 
of  style  entirely  lacking.  For  nobility  of  thought,  for  the  rhythmic 
solemnity  of  the  prose  of  Cranmer,  we  shall  look  in  vain.  This 
early  writing  bears  no  trace  of  the  music  of  the  passions.  It  has 
been  well  said  that  the  great  prose  of  after  writers,  like  Browne 
and  Overbury,  is  always  either  above  or  below  the  prose  level. 
Wilson,  and  his  like,  are  never  off  it.  Bright  and  abrupt  images, 
vivid  proverbs,  drop  as  it  were  into  their  discourse  from  common 
parlance.  But  its  proper  quality  is  a  vigour  at  once  clear  and 
colourless.  Even  in  the  Discourse  on  Usurye  travel  has  enriched 
neither  his  fancy  nor  his  vocabulary.  Wilson  writes  of  speech 
like  a  man  of  action.  It  is  Puttenham  who  first  treats  it  from 
the  later  developed  standpoint  of  the  man  of  letters. 

The  sources  of  the  matter  and  method  of  the  Rhetorique  are 
twofold.  Quintilian  and  the  schoolmen  with  their  stiff  formu- 
laries, and  endless  divisions  and  definitions,  are  closely  followed 
for  the  first  two  parts  of  Wilson's  book.  These  are,  however, 
enlivened  by  "  modell  oracions,"  panegyrics,  and  epistles,  out  of 
his  own  head.  Such  are  the  Oracion  on  the  deaths  of  Henry 
and  Charles  Brandon  of  Suffolk,  the  Oracion  in  Praise  of  David 
against  Goliath,  the  Essay  on  Consolation,  and  some  pieces  of 
tough  judicial  pleading  ;  besides  a  quaint  and  lengthy  epistle 
devised  by  Erasmus  to  persuade  an  exceedingly  obdurate  young 
man  to  marry. 

In  the  third  book,  however,  the  chief  source  is  the  author's  own 


THOMAS  WILSON  287 


keen  observation  of  men.  There  appears  the  future  member  of 
Parliament,  jurist,  and  diplomatist.  Here  the  freshness,  the  con- 
ciseness, and  the  common-sense,  orderly  and  yet  overriding  rules, 
are  simply  admirable.  Here  the  tameness  of  the  imitative  portions 
of  the  book,  the  diffuse  and  formal  measure  of  the  "Modell 
Oracions,"  has  vanished,  and  the  proper  style  of  the  man  appears. 
Here  is  the  succinct,  supple,  close-fitted  style  of  the  man  that  will 
climb  by  readiness  and  assiduity  from  the  poor  scholar's  closet  to 
the  seat  of  the  Counsellor  of  State.  He  piques  himself  on  know- 
ledge of  the  world,  taking  as  pattern  the  pith  and  gravity  of  the 
handling  of  Demosthenes,  whom  he  commends  for  "  couching 
more  matter  in  a  little  room  than  Tully,"  for  all  his  grand  manner 
"  in  a  large  discourse."  Self-confident,  and,  therefore,  when  it  is 
convenient,  straightforward,  he  tells  you  flatly  his  mind  ;  with  a 
frank  egotism  is  himself  the  subject  of  all  his  own  prefaces,  and 
produces,  despite  his  worldliness,  the  impression  of  that  nah'cft' 
which  is  so  charming  in  the  earlier  Tudor  prose.  Though  well 
aware  of  the  value  of  "  nipping  taunts,"  he  has  in  him  too  much 
of  the  ambassador  not  to  prefer  the  armour  of  an  engaging  frank- 
ness. Moreover,  he  had  perhaps  listened  to  too  many  Parlia- 
mentary speeches  to  forget  the  terrors  of  the  bore.  He  never 
ceases  to  insist  on  the  cardinal  truth  that  a  style  should  be 
dictated  by  the  natures,  moods,  and  weaknesses  of  those  to  whom 
it  is  addressed.  He  lays  stress  on  the  needfulness  of  pleasing, 
the  spirit  of  urbane  conversation  ;  and  if  his  pattern  anecdotes, 
to  stir  a  sleepy  congregation  or  mollify  a  wearied  judge,  are 
somewhat  mechanically  cold,  yet  not  a  few  have  the  merit  of 
point. 

Wilson  wrote  rather  for  speakers  than  for  writers  ;  yet  was  he 
held  in  high  esteem  as  a  guide  of  letters  for  some  generations. 
It  is  characteristic  of  that  active  age  to  have  followed  the  literary 
counsels  of  a  Privy  Councillor  ;  of  the  author  of  the  Discourse  on 
Usurye,  whose  Rhetoriquc  was  written  at  a  courtier's  suggestion 
in  a  hasty  holiday  snatched  from  affairs.  He  teaches  the  uses 
rather  than  the  beauty  of  style.  "  To  speak  plainly  and  nakedly 
after  the  common  sort  of  men  in  few  words,"  tliis  was  his  principle ; 
aiming  less  at  that  excellence  to  which  nothing  can  be  added, 
than  at  that  from  which  nothing  can  be  taken  away.  Simple, 
subtle,  practical,  he  was  the  Machiavellian  father  of  English 
criticism. 

F.  H.  Trench. 


A  LESSON   IN  TACTICS 

Not  only  it  is  necessary  to  know  what  manner  of  cause  we  have 
taken  in  hand,  when  we  first  enter  upon  any  matter,  but  also  it 
is  wisdom  to  consider  the  time,  the  place,  the  man  for  whom  we 
speak,  the  man  against  whom  we  speak,  the  matter  whereof  we 
speak,  and  the  judges  before  whom  we  speak,  the  reasons  that 
best  serve  to  further  our  cause,  and  those  reasons  also  that  may 
seem  somewhat  to  hinder  our  cause  ;  and  in  no  wise  to  use  any 
such  at  all,  or  else  warily  to  mitigate  by  protestation  the  evil  that 
is  in  them,  and  always  to  use  whatsoever  can  be  said,  to  win  the 
chief  hearers'  good  wills,  and  to  persuade  them  to  our  purpose. 
If  the  cause  go  by  favour,  and  that  reason  cannot  so  much  avail, 
as  good  will  shall  be  able  to  do  :  or  else  if  moving  affections  can 
do  more  good,  than  bringing  in  of  good  reasons,  it  is  meet  always 
to  use  that  way,  whereby  we  may  by  good  help  get  the  over  hand. 
[So]  That  if  mine  adversary's  reasons,  by  me  being  confuted, 
serve  better  to  help  forward  my  cause,  than  mine  own  reasons 
confirmed,  can  be  able  to  do  good  :  I  should  wholly  bestow  my 
time,  and  travail  to  weaken  and  make  slender,  all  that  ever  he 
bringeth  with  him.  But  if  I  can  with  more  ease  prove  mine  own 
sayings,  either  with  witnesses,  or  with  words,  than  be  able  to 
confute  his  with  reason,  I  must  labour  to  withdraw  men's  minds 
from  mine  adversary's  foundation,  and  require  them  wholly  to 
hearken  unto  that  which  I  have  to  say,  being  of  itself  so  just  and 
so  reasonable,  that  none  can  rightly  speak  against  it,  and  shew 
them  that  great  pity  it  were,  for  lack  of  the  only  hearing,  that  a 
true  matter  should  want  true  dealing.  Over  and  besides  all  these, 
there  remain  two  lessons,  the  which  wise  men  have  always 
observed,  and  therefore  ought  of  all  men  assuredly  to  be  learned. 
The  one  is,  that  if  any  matter  be  laid  against  us,  which  by  reason 
can  hardly  be  avoided,  or  the  which  is  so  open,  that  none  almost 
can  deny  ;  it  were  wisdom  in  confuting  all  tlie  other  reasons,  to 
pass  over  this  one,  as  though  we  saw  it  not,  and  therefore  speak 
288 


THOMAS  WILSON  289 


never  a  word  of  it.  Or  else  if  necessity  shall  force  a  man  to  say 
somewhat,  he  may  make  an  outward  brag,  as  though  there  were 
no  matter  in  it,  ever  so  speaking  of  it,  as  though  he  would  stand 
to  the  trial,  making  men  to  believe  he  would  fight  in  the  cause, 
when  better  it  were  (if  necessity  so  required)  to  run  clean  away. 
And  tliercin  though  a  man  do  fly  and  give  place,  evermore  the 
gladder  tlie  less  raving  there  is,  or  stirring  in  this  matter  :  yet  he 
flieth  widely  and  for  this  end,  that  being  fenced  otherwise  and 
strongly  appointed,  he  may  take  his  adversary  at  the  best  advan- 
tage, or  at  the  least  weary  him  with  much  lingering,  and  make 
him  with  oft  such  flying,  to  forsake  his  chief  defence. 

The  other  lesson  is,  that  whereas  we  purpose  always  to  have 
the  victory,  we  should  so  speak  that  we  may  labour,  rather  not  to 
hinder  or  hurt  our  cause,  than  to  seek  means  to  further  it,  and 
yet  I  speak  not  this,  but  that  both  these  are  right  necessary,  and 
every  one  that  will  do  good,  must  take  pains  in  them  both,  but 
yet  notwithstanding,  it  is  a  fouler  fault  a  great  deal  for  an  orator, 
to  be  found  hurting  his  own  cause,  than  it  should  turn  to  his 
rebuke,  if  he  had  not  furthered  his  whole  entent.  Therefore  not 
only  is  it  wisdom,  to  speak  so  much  as  is  needful,  but  also  it  is 
good  reason  to  leave  unspoken  so  much  as  is  needless. 

(From  the  Arte  0/ Rheiorike.) 


THE  VIRTUE  OF   SIMPLICITY 

Among  all  other  lessons  this  should  first  be  learned,  that  we 
never  afiect  any  strange  ink-horn  terms,  but  to  speak  as  is 
commonly  received  :  neither  seeking  to  be  over  fine,  nor  yet 
living  over-careless,  using  our  speech  as  most  njen  do,  and 
ordering  our  wits  as  the  fewest  have  done.  Some  seek  so  far  for 
outlandish  English,  that  they  forget  altogether  their  mother's 
language.  And  I  dare  swear  this,  if  some  of  their  mothers  were 
alive,  they  were  not  able  to  tell  what  they  say.  And  yet  these 
fine  English  clerks  will  say,  they  speak  in  their  mother  tongue,  if 
a  man  should  charge  them  for  counterfeiting  the  King's  English. 
Some  far  journeyed  gentlemen  at  their  return  home,  like  as  they 
love  to  go  in  foreign  apparel,  so  they  will  powder  their  talk  with 
over-sea  language.  He  that  cometh  lately  out  of  France,  will 
talk  French  English  and  never  blush  at  the  matter.  Another 
VOL.  I.  U 


290  ENGLISH  PROSE 


chops  in  with  English  Italinated,  and  applieth  the  Italian  phrase 
to  our  English  speaking,  the  which  is,  as  if  an  orator  that  pro- 
fesseth  to  utter  his  mind  in  plain  Latin,  would  needs  speak  poetry, 
and  far  fetched  colours  of  strange  antiquity.  The  lawyer  will 
store  his  stomach  with  the  prating  of  pedlars.  The  auditor  in 
making  his  account  and  reckoning,  cometh  in  with  sise  sou/d,  and 
cater  denere,  for  vi.  s.  iiii.  d.  The  fine  courtier  will  talk  nothing 
but  Chaucer.  The  mystical  wisemen  and  poetical  clerks  will 
speak  nothing  but  quaint  proverbs,  and  blind  allegories,  delighting 
much  in  their  own  darkness,  especially,  when  none  can  tell  what 
they  do  say.  The  unlearned  or  foolish  fantastical,  that  smells 
but  of  learning  (such  fellows  as  have  seen  learned  men  in  their 
days)  will  so  Latin  their  tongues,  that  the  simple  cannot  but 
wonder  at  their  talk,  and  think  surely  they  speak  by  some  revela- 
tion. I  know  them  that  think  rhetoric  to  stand  wholly  upon 
dark  words,  and  he  that  can  catch  an  ink-horn  term  by  the  tail, 
him  they  count  to  be  a  fine  Englishman,  and  a  good  rhetorician. 

(From  the  Same.) 


THE   USES  OF  WIT 

Thirdly,  such  quickness  of  wit  must  be  shewed,  and  such 
pleasant  saws  so  well  applied,  that  the  ears  may  find  much 
delight,  whereof  I  will  speak  largely,  when  I  shall  intreat  of 
moving  laughter.  And  assuredly  nothing  is  more  needful,  than 
to  quicken  these  heavy  loaden  wits  of  ours,  and  much  to  cherish 
these  our  lumpish  and  unwieldy  natures,  for  except  men  find 
delight,  they  will  not  long  abide  :  delight  them,  and  win  them ; 
weary  them,  and  you  lose  them  for  ever.  And  that  is  the  reason, 
that  men  commonly  tarry  the  end  of  a  merry  play,  and  cannot 
abide  the  half  hearing  of  a  sour  checking  sermon.  Therefore 
even  these  ancient  preachers,  must  now  and  then  play  the  fools 
in  the  pulpit,  to  serve  the  tickle  ears  of  their  fleeting  audience,  or 
else  they  are  like  sometimes  to  preach  to  the  bare  walls,  for 
though  their  spirit  be  apt,  and  our  will  prone,  yet  our  flesh  is  so 
heavy,  and  humours  so  overwhelm  us,  that  we  cannot  without 
refreshing,  long  abide  to  hear  any  one  thing.  Thus  we  see,  that 
to  delight  is  needful,  without  the  which,  weighty  matters  will  not 


THOMAS  WILSON  291 


be  heard  at  all,  and  therefore,  him  can   I   thank  that  both  can 
and  will  once  mingle  sweet  among  the  sour. 


(From  the  Same.) 


RULES  OF  ART 

Now  a  wise  man  that  hath  good  experience  in  these  affairs,  and 
is  able  to  make  himself  a  rhetorique  for  every  matter,  will  not  be 
bound  to  any  precise  rules,  nor  keep  any  one  order,  but  such  only 
as  by  reason  he  shall  think  best  to  use,  being  master  over  art, 
rather  than  art  should  be  master  over  him,  rather  making  art  by 
wit,  than  confounding  wit  by  art.  And  undoubtedly  even  in  so 
doing  he  shall  do  right  well,  and  content  the  hearers  accordingly. 
For  what  mattereth  whether  we  follow  our  book  or  no,  if  we 
follow  wit  and  appoint  our  self  an  order,  such  as  may  declare  the 
truth  more  plainly  ?  Yea,  some  that  be  unlearned,  and  yet  have 
right  good  wits,  will  devise  with  themselves,  without  any  book 
learning,  what  they  will  say, 'and  how  much  they  will  say,  ap- 
pointing their  order,  and  parting  it  into  three  or  four  parts  or 
more  if  need  be,  such  as  they  shall  think  especial  points,  and 
most  meet  to  be  touched.  Whose  doings  as  I  can  well  like,  and 
much  commend  them  for  the  same  :  so  I  would  think  them  much 
more  able  to  do  much  better :  if  they  either  by  learning  followed 
a  pattern,  or  else  knew  the  precepts  which  lead  us  to  right  order. 
Rules  were  therefore  given,  and  by  much  observation  gathered 
together,  that  those  which  could  not  see  art  hid  in  another  man's 
doings,  should  yet  see  the  rules  open  all  in  an  order  set  together, 
and  thereby  judge  the  rather  of  their  doings,  and  by  earnest 
imitation,  seek  to  resemble  such  their  invention.  I  cannot  deny, 
but  that  a  right  wise  man  unlearned,  shall  do  more  good  by  his 
natural  wit,  than  twenty  of  these  common  wits  that  want  nature 
to  help  art.  And  I  know  that  rules  were  made  first  by  wise  men, 
and  not  wise  men  made  by  rules.  For  these  precepts  serve  only 
to  help  our  need,  such  as  by  nature  have  not  such  plentiful  gifts. 

(From  the  Same.) 


292  ENGLISH  PROSE 


INTOLERANCE   IN   ROME 

Two  years  past  at  my  being  in  Italy,  I  was  charged  in  Rome 
town,  to  my  great  danger  and  utter  undoing  (if  God's  goodness 
had  not  been  the  greater)  to  have  written  this  book  of  Rhetorike, 
and  the  Logike  also,  for  the  which  I  was  counted  an  heretic,  not- 
withstanding the  absolution  granted  to  all  the  realm,  by  Pope 
Julius  the  Third,  for  all  former  offences  or.  practices,  devised 
against  the  Holy  Mother  Church,  as  they  call  it.  A  strange 
matter,  that  things  done  in  England  seven  years  before,  and  the 
same  universally  forgiven,  should  afterwards  be  laid  to  a  man's 
charge  in  Rome.  But  what  cannot  malice  do .''  Or  what  will 
not  the  wilful  devise,  to  satisfy  their  minds,  for  undoing  of  others  ? 
God  be  my  judge,  I  had  then  as  little  fear  (although  death  was 
present,  and  the  torment  at  hand,  whereof  I  felt  some  smart)  as 
ever  I  had  in  all  my  life  before.  For,  when  I  saw  those  that  did 
seek  my  death,  to  be  so  maliciously  set,  to  make  such  poor  shifts 
for  my  readier  dispatch,  and  to  burden  me  with  those  back 
reckonings,  I  took  such  courage,  and  was  so  bold,  that  the  judges 
then  did  much  marvel  at  my  stoutness,  and  thinking  to  bring 
down  my  great  heart,  told  me  plainly  that  I  was  in  farther  peril, 
than  whereof  I  was  aware,  and  sought  thereupon  to  take  advantage 
of  my  words,  and  to  bring  me  in  danger  by  all  means  possible. 
And  after  long  debating  with  me,  they  willed  me  at  any  hand  to 
submit  myself  to  the  holy  father,  and  the  devout  college  of 
cardinals.  For,  otherwise,  there  was  no  remedy.  With  that, 
being  fully  purposed  not  to  yield  to  any  submission,  as  one  that 
little  trusted  their  colourable  deceit,  I  was  as  ware  as  I  could  be, 
not  to  utter  anything  for  mine  own  harm,  for  fear  I  should  come 
in  their  danger.  For,  then  either  should  I  have  died,  or  else 
have  denied  both  openly  and  shamefully,  the  known  truth  of 
Christ  and  His  gospel.  In  the  end,  by  God's  grace,  I  was 
wonderfully  delivered,  through  plain  force  of  the  worthy  Romans 
(an  enterprise  heretofore  in  that  sort  never  attempted)  being  then 
without  hope  of  life,  and  much  less  of  liberty.  And  now  that  I 
am  come  home,  this  book  is  shewed  me  and  I  desired  to  look 
upon  it,  to  amend  it  where  I  thought  meet.  Amend  it,  quoth  I  ? 
Nay,  let  the  book  first  amend  itself,  and  make  me  amends.      For, 


THOMAS  WILSON  293 


surely   I   have  no  cause  to  acknowledge  it  for  my  book,  because  I 
have  so  smarted  for  it. 

(From  A  Prologue  to  the  Reader.') 


THE  TEACHING  OF  POETS 

The  saying  of  poets  and  all  their  fables  are  not  to  be  forgotten, 
for  by  them  we  may  talk  at  large,  and  win  men  by  persuasion,  if 
we  declare  beforehand,  that  these  tales  were  not  feigned  by  such 
wise  men  without  cause,  neither  yet  continued  until  this  time, 
and  kept  in  memory  without  good  consideration,  and  thereupon 
declare  the  true  meaning  of  all  such  writing.  For  undoubtedly 
there  is  no  one  tale  among  all  the  poets,  but  under  the  same  is 
comprehended  some  thing  that  pertaineth,  either  to  the  amend- 
ment of  manners,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  to  the  setting 
forth  of  nature's  work,  or  else  the  understanding  of  some  notable 
thing  done.  For  what  other  is  the  painful  travail  of  Ulysses, 
described  so  largely  by  Homer,  but  a  lively  picture  of  man's 
miser>'  in  this  life.  And  as  Plutarch  saith,  and  likewise  Basilius 
Magnus  :  in  the  Iliades  are  described  strength  and  valiantness  of 
the  body.  In  Odissea  is  set  forth  a  lively  pattern  of  the  mind. 
The  poets  are  wise  men,  and  wished  in  heart  the  redress  of  things, 
the  which  when  for  fear,  they  durst  not  openly  rebuke,  they  did 
in  colours  paint  them  out,  and  told  men  by  shadows  what  they 
should  do  in  good  sooth,  or  else  because  the  wicked  were  un- 
worthy to  hear  the  truth,  they  spake  so  that  none  might  under- 
stand but  those  unto  whom  they  please  to  utter  their  meaning, 
and  knew  them  to  be  men  of  honest  conversation. 


(From  The  Arte  of  Rkeiorike.) 


JOHN  KNOX 


[John  Knox  was  bom  in  Haddingtonshire  in  1505,  eight  years  before  Flodden 
Field.  He  studied  at  the  infant  University  of  Glasgow  ;  took  pupils  at  St. 
Andrews  and  elsewhere  ;  attached  himself  to  George  Wishart,  the  martyr  ;  and 
came  prominently  into  public  notice  through  acting  as  preacher  to  the  refugees 
who  held  St.  Andrews  Castle  after  the  assassination  of  Cardinal  Beaton  in 
1546.  On  the  capture  of  the  castle  by  the  French  he  was  sent  to  the  galleys. 
Released  in  1549  he  went  to  England  ;  preached  and  found  a  wife  at  Berwick, 
and  was  chosen  one  of  Edward  the  Sixth's  chaplains.  He  had  considerable 
influence  in  the  preparation  of  the  Articles  of  Religion,  and  refused  a  bishopric. 
In  1554,  after  the  accession  of  Queen  Mary,  he  retired  to  the  Continent,  and 
was  welcomed  at  Geneva  by  Calvin  and  his  circle.  After  a  short  ministry  at 
Frankfort,  he  paid,  in  1555,  a  visit  to  Scotland  of  some  importance,  confirm- 
ing the  faith  of  the  growing  party  of  reform.  While  there  he  received  and 
accepted  a  call  to  the  English  Church  at  Geneva.  He  came  back  to  Scotland 
in  1559,  and  the  rest  of  his  history  is  inseparable  from  that  of  his  country. 
He  was  not  only  the  ecclesiastical  leader  in  the  struggle  that  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Presbyterian  Church  of  Scotland,  but  had  wide  political  influ- 
ence, advising,  and  doing  much  to  secure  the  alliance  with  England  that 
ensured  the  success  of  the  Reforming  party.  During  the  last  years  of  his  life, 
as  minister  of  Edinburgh,  he  came  into  close  personal  contact  with  the  Court; 
and  his  various  interviews  with  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  are  among  the  most 
striking  incidents  of  the  Reformation.  He  died  in  1572,  two  months  after  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew. 

Kno.\'s  principal  works  are  his  Admonition,  addressed  to  "  faithful  Chris- 
tians" in  London,  Newcastle,  and  Berwick  (1554)  ;  another  Admonition  "to 
the  professors  of  God's  truth  in  England"  (1554)  ;  the  First  Blast  of  the 
Trumpet  against  the  Monstrous  Regimen  of  Women  (1558)  ;  various  sermons, 
epistles,  and  expositions  ;  and  the  History  of  the  Reformation  of.  Religioti 
within  the  Realm  of  Scotland.  The  First  Book  of  Discipline  was  composed 
in  1560  by  a  Commission  of  which  Knox  was  the  leading  member.] 

The  name  of  John  Knox  is  a  household  word  among  his  country- 
men, and  is  universally  identified  with  the  triumph  of  the 
Reformation  in  Scotland.  It  cannot  be  said  that  his  writings 
have  contributed  much  to  his  fame.  Luther  belongs  to  history 
and  to  literature  alike  :  his  translation  of  the  Bible  is  sufficient  to 

295 


296  ENGLISH  PROSE 


perpetuate  his  memory,  for  it  remains  the  first  model  of  German 
prose  style.  The  Instittiies  of  Calvin  are  the  main  source  from 
which  a  great  branch  of  the  Christian  Church  still  draws  its 
systematic  theology.  Knox,  like  the  other  principal  Reformers,  was 
a  busy  writer.  His  works,  in  the  excellent  edition  of  David 
Laing,  fill  six  bulky  volumes.  His  History  possesses  special  interest 
and  value  as  the  production  of  a  man  of  letters  who  was  also  a 
man  of  action.  But  his  fame  does  not  rest  upon  his  History,  or, 
in  any  great  degree,  upon  his  writings  at  all.  These  were  mere 
instruments  to  an  end.  When  he  penned  the  comforting  epistles 
or  stern  admonitions  which  make  up  the  list  of  his  minor 
works,  his  only  object  was  the  immediate  object  of  consolation 
or  warning.  When  he  wrote  his  History  his  ambition  was,  not 
to  give  a  philosophical  narrative  of  events,  but  "  to  advance  God's 
glory,  and  to  edify  this  present  generation  and  the  posterity  to 
come."  Such  distinction  as  his  writings  possess  is  due  to  the 
sincerity  and  force  of  the  writer,  and  not  to  the  conscious  exer- 
cise of  literary  art. 

In  one  respect  the  part  which  Knox  played  in  the  all-absorbing 
religious  controversies  of  his  day  powerfully  affected  the  literary 
form  of  his  compositions.  His  resistance  to  Rome  was  based 
almost  exclusively  upon  an  appeal  to  the  text  of  the  Bible,  and 
this  fact  is  prominent  on  every  page  he  wrote.  For  any  further 
explanation  of  the  man  and  of  his  works  we  must  look  to  the 
special  circumstances  of  his  life  and  of  the  Scottish  Reformation, 
and  above  all  to  his  own  remarkable  gifts.  Neighbourhood  and 
kinship  might  have  been  expected  to  direct  the  Reformation  in 
Scotland  on  the  lines  it  followed  south  of  the  Tweed.  And 
although  the  model  set  in  France  and  Switzerland  was  ultimately 
adopted,  yet  the  early  English  translations  of  the  Bible  had  a 
powerful  influence  on  Scottish  thought  and  feeling  ;  while  the 
Lollards  of  Kyle,  following  Wyclifife,  and  the  disciples  of  Wishart, 
the  Cambridge  student,  could  not  but  owe  much  of  their  inspira- 
tion to  English  sources.  There  is  little  in  the  form  or  style  of 
Knox's  writings  that  is  distinctively  Scottish. 

It  is  especially  to  Knox's  personal  qualities,  however,  that  we 
must  look  for  the  explanation  of  his  wonderful  authority.  In  his 
case,  if  in  any,  the  style  is  the  man,  and,  as  has  been  indicated 
above,  the  chief  interest  of  his  books  is  the  manner  in  which 
they  reveal  his  character.  The  impression  which  they  leave 
upon   a  reader   is   that   of   a  man,    within   his   lights,   absolutely 


JOHN  KNOX  297 

straightforward  and  sincere  ;  intensely  convinced,  in  his  own 
person,  of  the  power  of  sin  and  the  need  of  repentance  ;  deter- 
mined to  bring  home  the  same  conviction  in  all  those  whom  he 
could  reach  ;  and  certain  that  salvation  was  to  be  found  by  no 
mechanical  or  ceremonial  means  of  grace,  but  only  by  a  penitent 
and  humble  faith.  Believing,  as  he  did,  in  the  literal  inspiration 
of  Scripture,  and  in  his  ability,  as  one  of  God's  messengers,  to 
interpret  it  aright,  he  was  ready,  in  hours  of  exaltation,  to  assume 
the  positive  tones  of  a  Hebrew  prophet,  and  to  anticipate  the 
rewards  and  the  vengeance  of  God  in  language  which,  on  other 
lips,  would  have  implied  a  claim  to  supernatural  powers.  As  a 
prophet,  he  could  not  recognise  degrees  of  conformity  :  a  thing 
was  right  or  it  was  wrong.  For  such  a  man  compromise  was 
impossible,  toleration  was  a  trial  of  patience.  To  his  friends  he 
was  a  tower  of  strength  ;  but  to  cross  his  path  was  to  vex  the 
Almighty.  His  gift  of  language,  and  especially  of  denunciation, 
was  immense  and,  backed  by  a  fearless  temperament,  was  never 
known  to  fail  him.  He  does  not  attract  by  the  humane  breadth 
of  wisdom  and  simple-hearted  gaiety  which  make  of  Luther 
such  a  typical  Christian.  An  unpleasant  vein  of  bitterness 
crosses  most  of  his  writings.  But  it  is  proper  to  remember 
that  this  man's  spiritual  father,  Wishart,  was  burnt  alive  ;  that  he 
served  a  hard  apprenticeship  amid  the  horrors  of  the  French 
galleys  ;  that  many  of  his  best  years  were  spent  in  exile  ;  that 
he  suffered  much  from  ill-health  ;  and  that  at  least  part  of  his 
vehement  temper  belongs  to  his  time  and  to  his  country  rather 
than  to  himself. 

There  is  scarcely  a  page  of  Knox's  writings  which  does  not 
testify  to  his  sense  of  the  deep  sinfulness  of  human  nature,  and 
the  necessity  of  an  inward  change  of  mind  as  the  preliminary  to 
salvation.  A  tinge  almost  of  misanthropy  pervades  his  views 
on  this  head.  He  e.xcelled  in  depicting  the  miserable  and  hope- 
less state  of  the  sinner.  "  When  he  entered  to  application,"  says 
James  Melville,  "he  made  me  so  to  grew  [thrill]  and  tremble 
that  I  could  not  hold  a  pen  to  write."  In  the  Queen's  ante- 
chamber, dismissed  from  a  stormy  interview,  he  found  relaxation 
in  addressing  the  ladies-in-waiting  after  this  fashion:  — "  O  fair 
ladies,  how  pleasing  was  this  life  of  yours,  if  it  should  ever  abide, 
and  then  in  the  end  we  might  pass  to  heaven  with  all  this  gay 
gear.  But  fie  upon  that  knave  Death,  that  will  come  whether 
we   will  or  not  !   and  when  he  has  laid   on  his  arrest,    the  foul 


298  ENGLISH  PROSE 


worms  will  be  busy  with  this  flesh,  be  it  never  so  fair  and  so 
tender  ;  and  the  silly  soul,  I  fear,  shall  be  so  feeble  that  it  can 
neither  carry  with  it  gold,  garnishing,  targetting,  pearl,  nor 
precious  stones."  It  is  fair  to  add  that  there  is  abundant  evidence 
that  Knox  was  as  stern  toward  his  own  imperfections  as  to  those 
of  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  repeatedly  acknowledges  that  he 
deserves  damnation. 

His  knowledge  of  the  Bible  was  profound,  and  he  could  quote 
from  it  precedents  for  every  situation,  individual  or  political.  In 
this  respect,  indeed,  the  Reformers  and  the  Humanists  were 
much  alike ;  the  former  looked  to  the  Bible,  the  latter  to  the 
classical  writings,  for  their  final  authorities,  and  the  opinion 
expressed  by  Erasmus,  that  the  study  of  Hebrew  would  promote 
Judaism  and  the  study  of  philology  revive  Paganism,  was 
singularly  verified  by  the  result.  For  Knox,  at  any  rate, 
Scripture  was  all -sufficient.  In  a  striking  passage  he  accounts 
for  the  confident  tone  of  the  predictions  which  he  hazarded 
from  time  to  time,  and  which  gave  rise,  in  that  superstitious 
age,  to  rumours  that  he  was  supernaturally  gifted  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  future.  "  Ye  would  know  the  grounds  of 
my  certitude.  God  grant  that,  hearing  them,  ye  may  under- 
stand and  stedfastly  believe  the  same.  My  assurances  are  not 
the  marvels  of  Merlin,  nor  yet  the  dark  sentences  of  profane 
prophecies  ;  but  the  plain  truth  of  God's  word,  the  invincible 
justice  of  the  everlasting  God,  and  the  ordinary  course  of  His 
punishments  and  plagues  from  the  beginning,  are  my  assurances 
and  grounds.  God's  word  threateneth  destruction  to  all  in- 
obedient  ;  His  immutable  justice  must  require  the  same.  The 
ordinary  punishments  and  plagues  show  examples.  What  man, 
then,  can  cease  to  prophesy  .'' " 

His  History  is  written  throughout  in  the  spirit  of  a  censor. 
The  other  side  is  not  allowed  to  possess  a  shred  of  honesty. 
Its  supporters  are  "perfect  hypocrites,"  "bloody  worms,"  or 
worse.  There  is  something  ignoble  in  the  sense  of  almost  per- 
sonal triumph  which  he  exhibits  in  recounting  the  death  of 
Cardinal  Beaton,  or  the  last  days  of  Mary  of  Guise.  One  may 
doubt  if,  in  the  whole  range  of  literature,  there  are  to  be  found 
more  dramatic  illustrations  of  the  gulf  which  difference  of 
character  and  training  can  create  between  two  human  minds 
than  the  celebrated  dialogues  with  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  which 
fill    the    most    picturesque    pages    in    the    History.       For    Knox, 


JOHN  KNOX  299 

Mary  was  a  veritable  daughter  of  Heth.  "  Her  common  talk  was 
in  secret,  that  she  saw  nothing  in  Scotland  but  gravity,  which 
repugned  altogether  to  her  nature,  for  she  was  brought  up  in 
joyenset  '• ;  so  termed  she  her  dancing  and  other  things  thereto 
belonging."  Mary  made  vain  efforts  to  browbeat  him.  "  Yon 
man,"  she  said,  "  made  me  greet  [weep]  and  grat  never  a  tear 
himself;  I  will  see  if  I  can  cause  him  greet."  She  failed.  Knox 
kept  a  bold  countenance.  "  Why  should  the  pleasing  face  of  a 
gentlewoman  fear  me  ?  I  have  looked  in  the  faces  of  many  angry 
men,  and  yet  have  not  been  afraid  above  measure."  Some  have 
believed  she  was  more  successful  in  the  alternative  course  of 
blandishment.  But  there  is  no  clear  sign  that  Knox  ever  bowed 
before  the  charms  of  her  whose — 

"  face  was  worth 
All  that  a  man  may  think  to  give 
On  earth;  " 

and  the  language  in  which  he  permitted  himself  to  speak  of  her 
has  procured  for  him  the  cordial  abuse  of  Mary's  champions 
during  three  centuries. 

It  is  difficult  not  to  think  that  Knox  must  sometimes  have 
regretted  the  violence  with  which  he  had  expressed  his  sentiments. 
In  his  Admonition  to  the  Professors  of  God's  Truth  in  England, 
written  in  1554,  he  applied  epithets  to  Philip  and  Mary  and  their 
chief  minister  which  almost  invited  persecution,  and  which  his 
rivals  hastened  to  affinn  had  a  direct  influence  in  aggravating 
the  repressive  policy  of  Mary's  reign.  Another  mstance  is 
better  known.  Knox's  most  notorious  work,  the  Trumpet  Blast 
against  the  Monstrous  Regimen  of  Jl^omen,  was  aimed,  like  the 
Admonition,  against  Mary  of  England.  Unfortunately  its  main 
argument  was  equally  applicable  to  Elizabeth,  and  Elizabeth  never 
forgave  the  author.  When  it  became  important  to  conciliate 
the  English  Sovereign  Knox  wrote  a  letter  intended  to  be 
apologetic,  but  which  only  illustrates  the  stiffness  of  his  mental 
fibre,  and  his  utter  incapacity  to  make  a  graceful  retreat.  It  drew 
a  characteristic  reply  from  Cecil  beginning,  "  Master  Knox,  jVon 
est  masculus  neque  femina;  omnes  enijn,  ut  ait  Paul  us,  unum 
sumus  in  Christo  Jesu."  The  letter  to  Elizabeth  is  a  proof  of 
what  is  otherwise  manifest,  that  a  strong  perception  of  the  humorous 
where  his  own  actions  were  concerned  was  not  among  Knox's 
gifts.  On  a  similar  occasion,  when  he  wished  to  excuse  his  un- 
lucky treatise  in  an  interview  with  Mary,  he  assured  the  Queen  of 


300  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Scots  in  all  seriousness  that  "  if  the  realm  finds  no  inconvenience 
from  the  regimen  of  a  woman,  that  which  they  approve  shall  I  not 
farther  disallow  than  within  my  own  breast,  but  shall  be  as  well 
content  to  live  under  your  Grace  as  Paul  was  to  live  under  Nero." 
Such  little  touches  are  full  of  significance  as  indications  of 
character.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Bowes,  his  mother-in-law, 
he  refers  to  a  conversation  (on  the  subject  of  his  marriage)  with 
her  kinsman  Sir  Robert  Bowes,  "  whose  disdainful,  yea  despiteful, 
words  have  so  pierced  my  heart,  that  my  life  is  bitter  unto  me. 
I  bear  a  good  countenance  with  a  sore  troubled  heart,  while  he 
that  ought  to  consider  matters  with  a  deep  judgment  is  become 
not  only  a  despiser,  but  also  a  taunter  of  God's  messengers — God 
be  inerciful  unto  him.''''  There  are  many  such  ejaculatory  utter- 
ances in  Knox's  writings  :  their  form  is  that  of  a  prayer,  but 
their  spirit  is  not  pure  benevolence. 

The  most  famous  of  Knox's  works  during  his  life  was  the 
Blast;  but  it  is  by  his  History  of  the  Refortnation  of  Religion  in 
Scotland  that  he  lives  in  literature.  That  book  is  akin  to  the 
French  type  of  memoirs  rather  than  to  regular  history.  The 
freedom  of  its  sentiments  and  the  efforts  made  in  England  during 
the  reign  of  Mary's  grandson  to  prevent  its  publication  in  its 
original  shape,  earned  for  it  a  reference  in  Milton's  Areopagitica. 
"  The  licensers  of  the  press,"  he  says,  "  if  there  be  found  in  a  book 
one  sentence  of  a  venturous  edge,  uttered  in  the  height  of  zeal 
(and  who  knows  whether  it  might  not  be  the  dictate  of  a  divine 
spirit  ?)  yet,  not  suiting  with  every  low  decrepit  humour  of  their 
own,  though  it  were  Knox  himself,  the  reformer  of  a  kingdom, 
that  spake  it,  they  will  not  pardon  him  their  dash  :  the  sense  of 
that  great  man  shall  to  all  posterity  be  lost  for  the  fearfulness  or 
the  presumptuous  rashness  of  a  perfunctory  licenser."  The  History 
was  not  correctly  issued  in  a  complete  form  till  1732.  The  style 
is  homely,  the  wording  is  not  choice,  the  tone  of  the  preacher  is 
always  felt.  But  the  situations  are  masterfully  grasped  and  placed 
before  the  reader  in  a  series  of  dramatic  touches,  often  with  a 
wealth  of  detailed  and  vivid  description  which  reminds  one  of 
Bunyan  or  Defoe.  If  Knox  had  any  model,  it  was  the  Book  of 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  He  regarded  himself  as  a  St.  Paul 
among  idolaters.  The  narrative  alternates,  like  that  of  the  Acts, 
between  the  third  person  and  the  first.  The  direct  form  of  speech 
is  generally  used  in  reporting  conversations  and  discussions,  and 
to  this  preference  we  owe  the  numerous  dialogues  which  the  book 


JOHN  KNOX  301 

contains.  It  is  our  chief  source  of  information  about  the  Scottish 
Reformation  and  its  heroic  leader.  Many  of  its  pages  have 
become  classical,  if  to  be  invariably  quoted  in  ■  connection  with 
particular  occurrences  is  a  title  to  that  name.  The  interest  of 
Knox's  other  writings  is  mainly  theological.  But  the  most 
cursory  notice  would  be  incomplete  without  a  reference  to  the 
Book  of  Discipline,  an  outline  of  the  ecclesiastical  polity  through 
which  Knox  and  his  associates  hoped  to  educate  the  Scottish 
nation  to  the  temper  of  a  genuine  theocracy.  Although  their 
ideal  was  too  uncompromising  to  bear  literal  translation  into  fact, 
its  authority  has  always  been  great.  The  constitution  of  the 
Reformed  Church  of  Scotland,  as  settled  after  his  death  upon  the 
basis  of  Presbytery,  varied  in  few  substantial  points  from  the 
sketch  which  Knox  had  drawn.  The  ends  that  he  indicated  were 
those  which  the  Church  sought  to  achieve  in  its  relations  with  the 
people  and  with  the  secular  authorities.  It  was  thus  Knox's  rare 
fortune  to  maintain  an  ascendancy  which  had  dominated  his  con- 
temporaries, and  to  impress  upon  later  generations  of  Scotsmen 
the  image  of  his  own  strong  character. 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


JOHN  KNOX  CHOSEN  AS  PREACHER 

At  the  Pasch  after,  anno  1547,  came  to  the  castle  of  St. 
Andrews  John  Knox,  who,  wearied  of  removing  from  place  to 
place,  by  reason  of  the  persecution  that  came  upon  him  by  this 
bishop  of  St.  Andrews,  was  determined  to  have  left  Scotland,  and 
to  have  visited  the  schools  of  Germany — of  England  then  he  had 
no  pleasure,  by  reason  that  the  pope's  name  being  suppressed,  his 
laws  and  corruptions  remained  in  full  vigour, — but  because  he  had 
the  care  of  some  gentlemen's  children,  whom  certain  years  he 
had  nourished  in  godliness,  their  fathers  solicited  him  to  go  to 
St.  Andrews  that  himself  might  have  the  benefit  of  the  castle,  a^d 
their  children  the  benefit  of  his  doctrine  ;  and  so,  we  say,  came 
he  the  time  foresaid  to  the  said  place,  and  having  in  his  company 
Francis  Douglas  of  Longniddry,  George  his  brother,  and  Alex- 
ander Cockburn,  then  eldest  son  to  the  laird  of  Ormiston,  began 
to  exercise  them  after  his  accustomed  manner.  Besides  their 
grammar,  and  other  humane  authors,  he  read  unto  them  a  cate- 
chism, account  whereof  he  caused  them  give  publicly  in  the  parish 
kirk  of  St.  Andrews.  He  read  moreover  unto  them  the  evangel 
of  John,  proceeding  where  he  left  at  his  departing  from  Long- 
niddry, where  before  his  residence  was  ;  and  that  lecture  he  read 
in  the  chapel  within  the  castle,  at  a  certain  hour.  They  of  the 
place,  but  especially  Mr,  Henry  Balnaves,  and  John  Rough, 
preacher,  perceiving  the  manner  of  his  doctrine,  began  earnestly 
to  travail  with  him,  that  he  would  take  the  preaching  place  upon 
him.  But  he  utterly  refused,  alleging,  "  That  he  would  not  run 
where  God  had  not  called  him  ; "  meaning,  that  he  would  do 
nothing  without  a  lawful  vocation.  Whereupon  they  privily 
amongst  themselves  advising^,  having  with  them  in  company  Sir 
David  Lindsay  of  the  Mount,  they  concluded,  that  they  would 
give  a  charge  to  the  said  John,  and  that  publicly  by  the  mouth  of 
their  preacher.  And  so  upon  a  certain  day,  a  sermon  had  of  the 
election  of  ministers,  "  what  power  the  congregation,  how  small 
302 


JOHM  KNOX  303 


that  ever  it  was,  passing  the  number  of  two  or  three,  had  above 
any  man,  in  whom  they  supposed  and  espied  the  gifts  of  God  to 
be,  and  how  dangerous  it  was  to  refuse,  and  not  to  hear  the  voice 
of  such  as  desire  to  be  instructed  :  "  these  and  other  heads,  we 
say,  declared,  the  said  John  Rough,  preacher,  directed  his  words 
to  the  said  John  Knox,  saying,  "  Brother,  ye  shall  not  be  offended, 
albeit  that  I  speak  unto  you  that  which  I  have  in  charge,  even 
from  all  these  that  are  here  present,  which  is  this  :  In  the  name 
of  God,  and  of  His  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  in  the  name  of  these 
that  presently  call  you  by  my  mouth,  I  charge  you,  that  ye  refuse 
not  this  holy  vocation,  but  as  ye  tender  the  glory  of  God,  the 
increase  of  Christ's  kingdom,  the  edification  of  your  brethren,  and 
the  comfort  of  me,  whom  ye  understand  well  enough  to  be 
oppressed  by  the  multitude  of  labours,  that  ye  take  upon  you  the 
public  office  and  charge  of  preaching,  even  as  ye  look  to  avoid 
God's  heavy  displeasure,  and  desire  that  ye  shall  multiply  His 
graces  with  you."  And  in  the  end  he  said  to  those  that  were 
present,  "  Was  not  this  your  charge  to  me  ?  And  do  ye  not 
approve  this  vocation?"  They  answered,  "It  was,  and  we 
approve  it."  Whereat  the  said  John  abashed,  burst  forth  in  most 
abundant  tears,  and  withdrew  himself  to  his  chamber.  His 
countenance  and  behaviour,  from  that  day  till  the  day  that  he 
was  compelled  to  present  himself  to  the  public  place  of  preaching, 
did  sufficiently  declare  the  grief  and  trouble  of  his  heart  ;  for  no 
man  saw  any  sign  of  mirth  of  him,  neither  yet  had  he  pleasure  to 
accompany  any  man,  many  days  together. 

(From  the  History  of  the  Refor7nation  of  Religion  in  Scotland.') 


KNOX  AND   QUEEN   MARY 

Whether  it  was  by  counsel  of  others,  or  the  queen's  own  desire, 
we  know  not  ;  but  the  queen  spake  with  John  Knox,  and  had  long 
reasoning  with  him,  none  being  present,  except  the  Lord  James — 
two  gentlewomen  stood  in  the  other  end  of  the  house.  The  sum 
of  their  reasoning  was  this.  The  queen  accused  him,  that  he  had 
raised  a  part  of  her  subjects  against  her  mother,  and  against  her- 
self ;  that  he  had  written  a  book  against  her  just  authority^ — she 
meant  the  Treatise  against  the  Regimen  of  li^omen — which  she 
had,  and  should  cause  the  most  learned  in  Europe  to  write  against 


304  ENGLISH  PROSE 


it  ;  that  he  was  the  cause  of  great  sedition,  and  great  slaughter  in 
England  ;  and  that  it  was  said  to  her,  that  all  that  he  did  was  by 
necromancy,  etc. 

To  the  which  the  said  John  answered,  "  Madam,  it  may  please 
your  Majesty,  patiently  to  hear  my  simple  answers.  And,  first," 
said  he,  "  if  to  teach  the  truth  of  God  in  sincerity,  if  to  rebuke 
idolatry,  and  to  will  a  people  to  worship  God  according  to  his 
word,  be  to  raise  subjects  against  their  princes,  then  cannot  I  be 
excused  ;  for  it  has  pleased  God  of  His  mercy  to  make  me  one, 
among  many,  to  disclose  unto  this  realm  the  vanity  of  the 
papistical  religion,  and  the  deceit,  pride,  and  tyranny  of  that 
Roman  antichrist.  But,  madam,  if  the  true  knowledge  of  God, 
and  His  right  worshipping  be  the  chief  causes,  that  most  move 
men  from  their  heart  to  obey  their  just  princes — as  it  is  most 
certain  that  they  are — wherein  can  I  be  reprehended  ?  I  think, 
and  am  surely  persuaded,  that  your  grace  have  had,  and  presently 
have  as  unfeigned  obedience,  of  such  as  profess  Christ  Jesus 
within  this  realm,  as  ever  your  father,  or  other  progenitors  had  of 
those  that  were  called  Bishops.  And  touching  that  book,  which 
seemeth  so  highly  to  offend  your  majesty,  it  is  most  certain  that  I 
wrote  it,  and  am  content  that  all  the  learned  of  the  world  judge 
of  it.  I  hear  that  an  Englishman  hath  written  against  it,  but  I 
have  not  read  him  ;  if  he  hath  sufficiently  improved  my  reasons, 
and  established  his  contrary  propositions,  with  as  evident 
testimonies,  as  I  have  done  mine,  I  shall  not  be  obstinate,  but 
shall  confess  my  error  and  ignorance  ;  but  to  this  hour  I  have 
thought,  and  yet  think  myself  alone  to  be  more  able  to  sustain  the 
things  affirmed  in  that  my  work,  than  any  ten  in  Europe  shall  be 
able  to  confute  it." 

"  You  think  then,"  quoth  she,  "  that  I  have  no  just  authority  "i  " 
/'  Please  your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "  that  learned  men  in  all  ages 
have  had  their  judgments  free,  and  most  commonly  disagreeing 
from  the  common  judgment  of  the  world  ;  such  also  have  they 
published,  both  with  pen  and  tongue,  and  yet  notwithstanding  they 
themselves  have  lived  in  the  common  society  with  others,  and 
have  borne  patiently  with  the  errors  and  imperfections  which  they 
could  not  amend.  Plato,  the  philosopher,  wrote  his  books  of  the 
Commonwealth,  in  the  which  he  damneth  many  things  that  then 
were  maintained  in  the  world,  and  required  many  things  to  have 
been  reformed  ;  and  yet  notwithstanding  he  lived  even  under  such 
policies,  as  then  were  universally  received,  without  farther  troub- 


JOHN  KNOX  305 


ling  of  any  estate.  Even  so,  madam,  am  I  content  to  do,  in 
uprightness  of  heart,  and  with  a  testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 
I  have  communicated  my  judgment  to  the  world  ;  if  the  realm 
finds  no  inconvenience  from  the  regimen  of  a  woman,  that  which 
they  approve  shall  I  not  farther  disallow  than  within  my  own 
breast,  but  shall  be  as  well  content  to  live  under  your  grace,  as 
Paul  was  to  live  under  Nero.  And  my  hope  is,  that  so  long  as 
that  ye  defile  not  your  hands  with  the  blood  of  the  saints  of  God, 
that  neither  I  nor  that  book  shall  either  hurt  you  or  your 
authority  ;  for  in  very  deed,  madam,  that  book  was  written  most 
especially  against  that  wicked  Jezebel  of  England." 

"  But,"  said  she,  "  ye  speak  of  women  in  general."  "  Most 
true  it  is,  madam,"  said  the  other  ;  "  and  yet  it  appeareth  to  me, 
that  wisdom  should  persuade  your  grace,  never  to  raise  trouble 
for  that,  which  to  this  day  hath  not  troubled  your  majesty,  neither 
in  person  nor  in  authority  ;  for  of  late  years  many  things,  which 
before  were  holden  stable,  have  been  called  in  doubt  ;  yea,  they 
have  been  plainly  impugned.  But  yet,  madam,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
assured,  that  neither  protestant  nor  papist  shall  be  able  to  prove, 
that  any  such  question  was  at  any  time  moved  in  public  or  in  secret. 
Now,  madam,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  intended  to  have  troubled  your 
estate,  because  ye  are  a  woman,  I  might  have  chosen  a  time  more 
convenient  for  that  purpose,  than  I  can  do  now,  when  your  own 
presence  is  within  the  realm. 

"  But  now,  madam,  shortly  to  answer  to  the  other  two  accusa- 
tions. I  heartily  praise  my  God  through  Jesus  Christ,  that  Satan 
the  enemy  of  mankind,  and  the  wicked  of  the  world,  have  no 
other  crimes  to  lay  to  my  charge,  than  such  as  the  very  world 
itself  knoweth  to  be  most  false  and  vain.  For  in  England  I  was 
resident  only  the  space  of  five  years.  The  places  were  Berwick, 
where  I  abode  two  years,  so  long  in  the  New-Castle,  and  a  year 
in  London.  Now,  madam,  if  in  any  of  these  places,  during  the 
time  that  I  was  there,  any  man  shall  be  able  to  prove,  that  there 
was  either  battle,  sedition,  or  mutiny,  I  shall  confess  that  I 
myself  was  the  malefactor,  and  the  shedder  of  the  blood.  I 
shame  not,  madam,  farther  to  affirm,  that  God  so  blessed  my 
weak  labours,  that  in  Berwick  —  where  commonly  before  there 
used  to  be  slaughter,  by  reason  of  quarrels  that  used  to  arise 
among  soldiers — there  was  as  great  quietness,  all  the  time  that 
I  remained  there,  as  there  is  this  day  in  Edinburgh. 

"  And  where  they  slander  me  of  magic,  necromancy,  or  of  any 
VOL.  1  X 


3c6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


other  art  forbidden  of  God,  I  have  witnesses  —  besides  my 
own  conscience — all  congregations  that  ever  heard  me,  what  I 
spake  both  against  such  arts,  and  against  those  that  use  such 
impiety.  But  seeing  the  wicked  of  the  world  said,  '  That  my 
master  the  Lord  Jesus,  was  possessed  with  Beelzebub,'  I  must 
patiently  bear,  albeit  that  I,  wretched  sinner,  be  unjustly  accused 
of  those,  that  never  delighted  in  the  verity." 

"  But  yet,"  said  she,  "  ye  have  taught  the  people  to  receive 
another  religion  than  their  princes  can  allow  ;  and  how  can  that 
doctrine  be  of  God,  seeing  that  God  commands  subjects  to  obey 
their  princes  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  "  as  right  religion  took  neither  original 
strength  nor  authority  from  worldly  princes,  but  from  the  Eternal 
God  alone,  so  are  not  subjects  bound  to  frame  their  religion 
according  to  the  appetites  of  their  princes  ;  for  oft  it  is,  that 
princes  are  the  most  ignorant  of  all  others  in  God's  true  religion, 
as  we  may  read  as  well  in  the  histories  before  the  death  of  Christ 
Jesus  as  after.  If  all  the  seed  of  Abraham  should  have  been  of 
the  religion  of  Pharaoh,  to  whom  they  were  long  subjects,  1  pray 
you,  madam,  what  religion  should  there  have  been  in  the  world  ? 
Or  if  all  men,  in  the  days  of  the  apostles,  should  have  been  of  the 
religion  of  the  Roman  emperors,  what  religion  should  there  have 
been  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  Daniel  and  his  fellows  were 
subjects  to  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  unto  Darius,  and  yet,  madam, 
they  would  not  be  of  their  religion,  neither  of  the  one  or  of  the 
other  ;  for  the  three  children  said  :  '  We  make  it  known  unto 
thee,  O  king,  that  we  will  not  worship  thy  gods.'  And  Daniel  did 
pray  publicly  unto  his  God,  against  the  express  commandment  of 
•  the  king.  And  so,  madam,  ye  may  perceive,  that  subjects  are 
not  bound  to  the  religion  of  their  princes,  albeit  they  are  com- 
manded to  give  them  obedience."  (From  the  Same.) 


THE  NECESSITY  OF  SCHOOLS 

Seeing  that  God  hath  determined  that  His  Church  here  in  earth 
shall  be  taught  not  by  angels,  but  by  men,  and  seeing  that  men 
are  born  ignorant  of  all  godliness,  and  seeing  also  now  God 
ceaseth  to  illuminate  men  miraculously,  suddenly  changing  them 
as   He  did   His  apostles  and  others  in   the  primitive  Church  :   of 


JOHN  KNOX  307 

necessity  it  is  that  your  Honours  be  most  careful  for  the  virtuous 
education,  and  godly  upbringing  of  the  youth  of  this  realm,  if 
either  ye  now  thirst  unfeignedly  for  the  advancement  of  Christ's 
glory,  or  yet  desire  the  continuance  of  His  benefits  to  the  genera- 
tion following.  For  as  the  youth  must  succeed  to  us,  so  ought  we 
to  be  careful  that  they  have  the  knowledge  and  erudition,  to  profit 
and  comfort  that  which  ought  to  be  most  dear  to  us,  to  wit,  the 
Church  and  spouse  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

Of  necessity  therefore  we  judge  it,  that  every  several  Church 
have  a  school-master  appointed,  such  a  one  as  is  able  at  least 
to  teach  grammar  and  the  Latin  tongue,  if  the  town  be  of  any 
reputation  ;  if  it  be  upaland  where  the  people  convene  to  doctrine 
but  once  in  the  week,  then  must  either  the  reader  or  the  minister 
there  appointed  take  care  over  the  children  and  youth  of  the 
parish,  to  instruct  them  in  their  first  rudiments,  and  especially  in 
the  Catechism,  as  we  have  it  now  translated  in  the  Book  of  our 
Common  Order  called  the  Order  of  Geneva.  And  further,  we 
think  it  expedient,  that  in  every  notable  town,  and  especially  in 
the  town  of  the  superintendent,  there  be  erected  a  college,  in 
which  the  arts,  at  least  logic  and  rhetoric,  together  with  the 
tongues,  be  read  by  sufficient  masters,  for  whom  honest  stipends 
must  be  appointed  ;  as  also  provision  for  those  that  be  poor,  and 
be  not  able  by  themselves  nor  by  their  friends  to  be  sustained  at 
letters,  especially  such  as  come  from  landward. 

The  fruit  and  commodity  hereof  shall  suddenly  appear.  For, 
first,  the  youth-heid  and  tender  children  shall  be  nourished  and 
brought  up  in  virtue,  in  presence  of  their  friends,  by  whose  good 
attendance  many  inconveniences  may  be  avoided  in  the  which 
the  youth  commonly  fall,  either  by  too  much  liberty  which  they 
have  in  strange  and  unknown  places,  while  they  cannot  rule 
themselves  ;  or  else  for  lack  of  good  attendance,  and  of  such 
necessities  as  their  tender  age  requireth.  Secondarily,  the  exercise 
of  children  in  every  church  shall  be  great  instruction  to  the  aged. 
Last,  the  great  schools  called  universities  shall  be  replenished 
with  those  that  be  apt  to  learning  ;  for  this  must  be  carefully 
provided,  that  no  father,  of  what  estate  or  condition  that  ever 
he  be,  use  his  children  at  his  own  fantasy,  especially  in  their 
youth-heid  ;  but  all  must  be  compelled  to  bring  up  their  children 
in  learning  and  virtue. 

The  rich  and  potent  may  not  be  permitted  to  suffer  their 
children  to  spend  their  youth  in  vain  idleness,  as  heretofore  they 


3o8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


have  done.  But  they  must  be  exhorted,  and  by  the  censure  of 
the  Church  compelled  to  dedicate  their  sons,  by  good  exercise,  to 
the  profit  of  the  Church  and  to  the  commonwealth,  and  that  they 
must  do  of  their  own  expenses,  because  they  are  able.  The 
children  of  the  poor  must  be  supported  and  sustained  on  the 
charge  of  the  Church,  till  trial  be  taken  whether  the  spirit  of 
docility  be  found  in  them  or  not.  If  they  be  found  apt  to  letters 
and  learning  then  may  they  not, — we  mean,  neither  the  sons  of 
the  rich,  nor  yet  the  sons  of  the  poor, — be  permitted  to  reject 
learning,  but  must  be  charged  to  continue  their  study,  so  that 
the  commonwealth  may  have  some  comfort  by  them  ;  and  for 
this  purpose  must  discreet,  learned,  and  grave,  men  be  appointed 
to  visit  all  schools  for  the  trial  of  their  exercise,  profit,  and  con- 
tinuance ;  to  wit,  the  ministers  and  elders,  with  the  best  learned 
in  every  town,  shall  every  quarter  take  examination  how  the  youth 
hath  profited. 

A  certain  time  must  be  appointed  to  reading  and  to  learning 
of  the  Catechism,  a  certain  time  to  the  grammar  and  to  the  Latin 
tongue,  a  certain  time  to  the  arts,  philosophy,  and  to  the  other 
tongues,  and  certain  to  that  study  in  the  which  they  intend  chiefly  to 
travail  for  the  profit  of  the  commonwealth  ;  which  time  being 
expired, — we  mean  in  every  course, — the  children  must  either 
proceed  to  farther  knowledge,  or  else  they  must  be  sent  to  some 
handicraft,  or  to  some  other  profitable  exercise  ;  providing  always, 
that  first  they  have  the  form  of  knowledge  of  Christian  religion,  to 
wit,  the  knowledge  of  God's  law  and  commandments,  the  use  and 
ofifice  of  the  same,  the  chief  articles  of  our  belief,  the  right  form  to 
pray  unto  God,  the  number,  use,  and  effect  of  the  sacraments,  the 
true  knowledge  of  Christ  Jesus,  of  his  offices  and  natures,  and 
such  others  as  without  the  knowledge  whereof  neither  deserveth 
any  man  to  be  named  a  Christian,  neither  ought  any  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  participation  of  the  Lord's  table  ;  and,  therefore, 
these  principles  oaght  and  must  be  learned  in  the  youth-heid. 

(From  the  First  Book  of  Discipline.') 


GEORGE   BUCHANAN 

[Buchanan  was  born  in  Stirlingshire  in  1506,  was  educated  at  St.  Andrews 
and  Paris,  and,  settling  in  France,  soon  obtained  a  great  reputation  as  a 
scholar  and  poet.  He  revisited  Scotland  in  1535,  but  his  freedom  of  speech  and 
writing  forced  him  abroad  again  in  1539,  and  for  the  next  twenty-two  years  he 
was  engaged  in  the  practical  work  of  education  at  Bordeaux,  at  Coimbra  in 
Portugal,  and  elsewhere.  At  Bordeaux  Montaigne  was  among  his  pupils. 
In  1561  he  returned  to  Scotland  for  good.  Though  adhering  to  the  Refor- 
mation, he  was  well  known  and  popular  at  Court,  and  read  Latin  with  the 
Queen.  He  became  Principal  of  St.  Leonard's  College  at  St.  Andrews,  and 
(although  a  layman)  Moderator  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Scottish 
Church.  After  Mary's  flight  he  was  sent  to  England  as  one  of  the  Commis- 
sion entrusted  with  the  duty  of  convincing  the  English  ministers  of  her  guilt. 
From  1570  he  acted  as  tutor  of  James  the  Sixth,  for  whom  he  composed  his 
latest  works.  His  writings  in  Latin  verse  are  the  Somnium,  Palinodia,  and 
Franciscanus  (satires),  Medea  and  Alcestis  (translations),  Jephthes  and  Baptistes 
(original  dramas),  the  Psalms,  De  Spkcera  (philosophy),  with  many  minor 
poems,  in  which  he  is  perhaps  seen  at  his  best.  His  prose  works  are  men- 
tioned below.      He  died  in  1582.] 

An  often-quoted  couplet  by  Joseph  Scaliger — 

' '  Imperii  fuerat  Romani  Scotia  limes, 
Romani  eloquii  Scotia  finis  erit  "  — 

does  not  overstate  the  position  which  George  Buchanan,  one  of 
the  many  Scotsmen  of  his  age  who  sought  abroad  the  culture  and 
the  audience  which  their  own  country  could  not  afford,  attained  in 
contemporary  estimation.  His  poetic  monument  is  now  somewhat 
moss-grown ;  though  his  portrait,  with  the  arching  brows  and 
close-fitting  skull-cap,  is  familiar  to  the  readers  of  Maga  in  many 
lands.  Yet,  while  Buchanan  was  alive.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  could 
find  no  better  defence  for  poetry  than  the  patronage  of  "so  piercing 
a  wit,"  and  in  the  next  century  he  is  still  to  Hugo  Grotius  "  illud 
numen  Scotiae,"  recognisable  without  further  description. 

The  reasons  why  his  laurels  have  faded  are  not  far  to  seek.     It 

309 


3IO  ENGLISH  PROSE 


was  in  his  age  inevitable  that  a  Scotsman  seeking  literary  fame 
should  write  in  a  foreign  language.  Had  England  been  friendly, 
the  nervous  dialect  of  the  North  might  have  helped  to  enrich  a 
speech  and  literature  common  to  both  nations  ;  but  England  was  a 
closed  country.  Even  under  Elizabeth,  in  1567,  only  thirty-six 
Scotsmen  could  be  found  in  London.  As  the  English,  on  the  other 
hand,  knew  to  their  cost,  Scotland  was  the  constant  ally  of  France. 
A  few  years  after  Buchanan's  birth  the  hereditary  league  between 
the  two  nations  was  confirmed  by  the  French  king  in  an  edict 
granting  the  privilege  of  naturalisation  to  all  Scotsmen  resident  in 
France.  In  letters  and  in  arms  the  smaller  country  had  long 
contended  side  by  side  with  the  larger,  and  if,  on  the  part 
of  Scotland,  gratitude  was  qualified  by  a  jealous  independence, 
there  was  abundant  ground  for  holding  that  the  benefit  of  the 
alliance  was  reciprocal.  In  the  field  of  thought  one  of  the  great 
factions  whose  development  made  Paris  the  headquarters  of 
scholasticism  took  its  name  from  the  famous  Duns  Scotus. 
In  more  material  warfare,  as  Buchanan  says  himself— 

"  sine  milite  Scoto 
Nulla  unquam  Francis  fulsit  victoria  castris." 

Both  policy  and  tradition  therefore,  when  Buchanan  was  young, 
led  the  steps  of  ambitious  Scottish  scholars  to  France,  the  "  blanda 
nutrix  artium,"  as  to  a  kindly  foster-mother.  Buchanan  however 
was  no  mere  scholar.  For  old-fashioned  scholasticism  he  had  a 
supreme  contempt.  In  one  of  his  occasional  pieces  he  ridicules  the 
typical  scholastic,  always  harping  on  the  old  threadbare  formulas — 
"  '  omnis  homo  est  animal,'  nocte  dieque  boans  "  ;  and  his  punning 
epigram  on  his  teacher  and  countryman  John  Mair,  a  logician 
famous  in  his  day,  but,  according  to  Buchanan,  great  in  nothing 
but  his  name — "solo  cognomine  Major" — is  or  was  notorious. 
His  scholarship  was  merely  his  equipment.  Beneath  it  and  trans- 
cending it  shines  a  poetic  genius  of  a  very  high  order.  He  could 
not  hope  to  acclimatise  Scottish  poetry  in  France,  or  to  compete 
with  Clement  Marot  in  Marot's  own  tongue.  But  with  his  training 
and  his  temper  Buchanan  could  challenge  a  loftier  comparison  in 
a  more  spacious  arena.  A  master  of  the  language  of  Horace,  of 
Virgil,  of  Catullus,  he  threw  down  his  glove  to  the  ancients  at  the 
moment  of  their  most  unquestioned  empire.  Alas  for  Buchanan's 
fame  !  He  chose  to  stand  or  fall  with  the  fashion  of  Latmity,  and 
that  fashion  has  long  since  passed. 


GEORGE  BUCHANAN  311 

Once  in  his  career,  and  only  once,  can  we  imagine  Buchanan 
to  have  hesitated  between  the  old  world  and  the  new.  It  was  his 
lot  to  return  to  Scotland  at  the  memorable  juncture  which 
brought  the  erratic  course  of  Scottish  history  for  a  single  fiery 
moment  into  contact  with  the  general  movement  of  European  life. 
So  far  the  influence  of  Scotland  had  been  due  to  her  political 
position  as  the  neighbour  of  England,  and  her  reputation,  such  as 
it  was,  had  been  largely  based  upon  a  pious  fraud.  Hector  Boece, 
not  to  be  outdone  by  English  fabulists,  had  given  wide  currency 
to  the  legend  that  foisted  on  his  country  an  eponymous  heroine, 
Scota,  the  daughter  of  Pharaoh.  The  invention  found  ready  credit 
in  a  credulous  age,  and  all  Europe  came  to  admire  in  Scotland  the 
mother  of  existing  monarchies.  But  the  Scottish  writers  who  took 
up  the  tale  proved  themselves  liars  (to  borrow  from  Plato's 
definition  of  poetry)  of  the  noble  sort.  A  higher  strain  is  heard 
amid  their  genealogical  maunderings.      Here  it  is  in  Buchanan — 

..."  Hsec  una  de  stirpe  nepotes 
Sceptriferos  numerare  potest,  hasc  regia  sola  est 
Quae  bis  dena  suis  includat  secula  fastis 
Unica  vicinis  toties  pulsata  procellis 
Externi  itnmunis  domini."  .   ,   . 

'  The  true  boast  of  Scotland  is  to  have  maintained  her  independ- 
ence through  unnumbered  ages.'  Political  theorists  continued  the 
process  which  jealousy  of  England  had  originated,  and  precedents 
for  electing  and  deposing  sovereigns,  for  original  compacts  and 
reciprocal  rights  and  duties  between  the  governor  and  the  governed, 
were  soon  discovered  in  Caledonian  antiquity,  which,  so  far  as 
authoritative  history  went,  was  a  tabula  r^^j•r?,  whence  fiction  could 
summon  what  instances  it  pleased.  The  past  was  made  to  mirror 
an  ideal  future. 

It  is  probable  that  such  imaginings,  which  had  no  substantial 
basis,  although  they  illustrated  something  of  real  force  in  the 
national  spirit,  had  little  weight  with  the  men  who  established 
Puritanism,  and  so  altered  the  course  of  the  world's  history,  in  the 
Scotland  of  Mary  Stuart.  But  it  is  impossible  that  Buchanan, 
odorous  of  antiquity  to  the  finger-tips,  should  not  have  discovered 
in  the  life  of  the  Queen  of  Scots  the  fulfilment  of  an  ancient 
destiny  and  the  climax  of  republican  endeavour.  For  ten  years 
he  pondered  over  it,  and  then  in  his  treatise,  De  Jure  Regni  apud 
Scofos^  he  enunciated  the  theory,  as  in  his  Latin  His/ory  of 
Scotland  he  recounted   the  practice,  which  made  his  country  a 


312  ENGLISH  PROSE 


worthy  follower  of  the  ancient  commonwealths.  His  theme  was 
classical,  and  again  he  followed  classic  models  and  chose  the 
classic  medium. 

Buchanan,  however,  is  not  to  be  regarded  solely  as  a  Republican 
humanist,  elaborating  a  long  meditated  theme,  but  also  as  a 
partisan  in  the  brief  struggle  which  ended  in  the  flight  of  Mary 
from  Scotland.  No  man  of  any  note  could  at  that  time  and  place 
avoid  taking  a  side,  and  it  was  natural  that  Buchanan,  who  already 
in  Scotland,  France,  and  Portugal,  had  sufficiently  pledg-ed  himself 
to  the  main  principles  of  the  Reformers,  should  join  the  party 
of  the  Congregation.  The  adherence  of  so  eminent  a  personage, 
whose  influence,  personal  and  literary,  extended  to  every  corner 
of  the  Continent,  was  no  slight  buttress  to  the  cause.  Buchanan 
had  sung  Mary's  praises  in  verses  whose  echo  still  lingers.  She 
was  the  happy  Dauphin's  bride — 

' '  Fortunati  ambo  et  felici  tempore  nati 
Et  thalamis  juncti  !  " 

To  her  he  had  inscribed  his  crowning  work  in  poetry,  the  Latin 
paraphrase  of  the  Psalms  ;  and  from  the  Queen  he  had  received 
substantial  recompense  and  honourable  appointments.  That  he 
should  turn  against  her  in  the  end  and  produce  in  his  Detectio  an 
indictment  as  terrible  as  that  of  Tacitus  against  Tiberius,  whether 
it  is  for  us  a  proof  of  his  sincerity,  of  his  credulity,  or  of  his 
ingratitude  (for  each  theory  counts  its  supporters),  was  at  least  for 
contemporary  foreign  opinion  the  final  touch  that  shattered  Mary's 
reputation.  In  that  work,  and  in  Buchanan's  later  History,  the 
dark  side  of  Mary's  character  was  traced  in  outlines  which  have 
become  traditional  ;  and  the  world  has  not  yet  passed  judgment 
against  the  advocatus  diaboli. 

Buchanan's  only  experiments  in  the  vernacular  were  made  at 
this  stormy  time.  It  is  uncertain  whether  he  wrote  the  Scottish 
version  of  the  Detectio  :  but  two  short  tracts  of  undoubted 
authenticity  have  been  preserved,  as  well  as  some  notes  for  the 
reformation  of  St.  Andrews  University.  The  Ad/iionifio/i  to  the 
Trew  Lordis  was  directed  against  the  Hamilton  faction  after  their 
assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray.  The  Chamce/eon  is  a  satire, 
too  quaint  and  prolix  for  modern  taste,  upon  the  character  and 
career  of  Maitland  of  Lethington,  the  leader  of  the  exiled  Queen's 
party,  an  extraordinary  figure  in  whose  evolutions  Buchanan  pro- 
fessed to  find  a  likeness  to  a  fabulous  insect  the  colour  of  which 


GEORGE  BUCHANAN  3^3 

reflects  "everything  by  turns  and  nothing  long."  The  writer  had 
few  models  of  sustained  Scottish  prose  to  follow :  Bellenden's 
translation  of  Boece,  the  earliest  of  them,  was  only  written  in  i  530. 
But  had  native  models  existed  he  would  have  rejected  them. 
Once  more  he  imitates  the  Latin  writers.  Some  paragraphs  of 
the  Admonition  are  as  carefully  balanced  as  any  in  Cicero's 
Philippics — to  which  indeed  the  pamphlet  bears  a  sort  of  resem- 
blance. There  is  much  use  of  the  absolute  participial  construction. 
The  argument  progresses  from  period  to  period  in  a  steady, 
sonorous  march.  Had  it  rested  with  Buchanan,  the  tendency  of 
modern  style  to  substitute  for  the  rounded  harmonies  of  Livy  or 
Cicero  a  terse  and  shortened  form  of  sentence  would  never  have 
been  allowed  to  develop.  He  was  too  cautious  to  venture  beyond 
the  Latin  pale  without  his  impedimenta. 

It  is  interesting  to  speculate  whether,  but  for  the  union  of  the 
Crowns,  a  distinct  Scottish  prose  style  would  have  been  evolved. 
The  curiously  formal  accent  which  attaches  even  now  to  Scottish 
official,  legal,  and  ecclesiastical  documents  points  to  the  plausibility 
of  such  a  fancy.  Buchanan,  at  any  rate,  had  no  thought  of 
leading  the  way  in  that  direction.  Like  Petrarch,  he  rested  his 
reputation  upon  his  Latin  works,  and  gave  little  heed  to  the  ver- 
nacular by  comparison.  The  world  has  forgotten  the  Latinity  of 
both.  But  Petrarch's  Italian  is  the  gold  of  his  mint,  while 
Buchanan,  whose  contemporary  fame  had  its  points  of  resemblance 
to  Petrarch's,  allowed  his  countrymen  but  a  fugitive  glimpse  of  his 
true  quality.  For  his  reward,  he  was  best  remembered  among 
them  as  the  pedagogue  of  James  the  Sixth  ! 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


CHAM.CLEON 

There  is  a  certain  kind  of  beast  callit  Chamaeleon,  engenderit  in 
sic  countries  as  the  sun  hes  mair  strength  in  than  in  this  isle  of 
Britain,  the  whilk,  albeit  it  be  small  of  corporance,  noghttheless 
it  is  of  ane  strange  nature,  the  whilk  makes  it  to  be  na  less 
celebrat  and  spoken  of  than  some  beasts  of  greater  quantity. 
The  proprieties  is  marvelous,  for  what  thing  ever  it  be  applicat  to, 
it  seems  to  be  of  the  same  colour,  and  imitates  all  hues,  except 
only  the  white  and  red ;  and  for  this  cause  ancient  writers 
commonly  compares  it  to  ane  flatterer,  whilk  imitates  all  the 
haill  manners  of  whom  he  fancies  himself  to  be  friend  to,  except 
white,  whilk  is  taken  to  be  the  symbol  and  token  given  commonly 
in  devise  of  colours  to  signify  simpleness  and  loyalty,  and  red 
signifying  manliness  and  heroical  courage.  This  application  being 
so  usit,  yet  peradventure  mony  that  has  nowther  seen  the  said 
beast,  nor  na  perfect  portrait  of  it,  would  believe  sic  thing  not  to 
be  true.  I  will  therefore  set  forth  shortly  the  description  of  sic 
an  monster  not  lang  ago  engendrit  in  Scotland,  in  the  country  of 
Lowthian,  not  far  from  Hadingtoun,  to  that  effect  that,  the  form 
known,  the  most  pestiferous  nature  of  the  said  monster  may  be 
more  easily  evitit.  For  this  monster  being  under  coverture  of  a 
man's  figure,  may  easilier  endommage  and  worse  be  escapit  than 
gif  it  were  more  deform  and  strange  of  face,  behaviour,  shape,  and 
members.  Praying  the  reader  to  pardon  the  feebleness  of  my 
weak  spirit  and  engyne,  gif  it  can  not  expretne  perfectly  ane  strange 
creature,  made  by  nature,  other  wilUng  to  show  her  great  strength, 
or  by  some  accident  turnit  by  force  from  the  common  trade  and 
course.  This  monster  being  engenderit  under  the  figure  of  a  man 
child,  first  had  ane  propriety  of  nature,  flattering  all  man's  ee  and 
senses  that  beheld  it,  so  that  the  common  people  was  in  gude 
hope  of  gVeat  virtues  to  prosper  with  the  time  in  it  ;  other  farther 
seeing  of  great  harms  and  damage  to  come  to  all  that  sould 
be  familiarly  acquaintit  with  it.      This  monster,  promovit  to  sic 

3'4 


GEORGE  BUCHANAN  315 

maturity  of  age  as  it  could  easily  flatter  and  imitate  every  man's 
countenance,  speech,  and  fashions,  and  subtle  to  draw  out  the 
secrets  of  every  man's  mind,  and  depravat  the  counsels  to  his 
awn  proper  gain,  enterit  in  the  court  of  Scotland,  and  having 
espyit  out  not  only  factions  but  singular  persons,  addressit  the 
self  in  the  beginning  to  James,  after  earl  of  Murray,  and  Gilbert 
then  earl  of  Cassillis,  men  excellent  in  the  time  in  all  virtues 
pertaining  to  ane  noble  man,  and  special  in  love  of  the  common- 
wealth of  their  country  :  and  seeing  that  his  nature  could  not  bow 
to  imitate  in  verity,  but  only  to  counterfeit  y?;/5-«V/zV  the  gudeness 
of  thir  two  persons,  nor  yet  change  them  to  his  nature,  thocht 
expedient  to  lean  to  them  for  a  time,  and  climb  up  by  their 
branches  to  higher  degree,  as  the  woodbind  climbeth  on  the  oak, 
and  syne  with  time  destroys  the  tree  that  it  was  supported  by. 

(From  a  Tract  written  Against  the  Laird  of  Let/ufigton.) 


CONSPIRACIES  AGAINST  KING  JAMES  THE   FIFTH 

First  after  the  death  of  King  James  the  fourth,  Johne  duke  of 
Albany  chosen  by  the  nobility  to  govern  in  the  king's  les-age, 
the  Hamiltons  thinking  that  he  had  been  as  wickit  as  they,  and 
sould  to  his  awn  advancement  put  down  the  king,  being  of 
tender  age  for  the  time  and  by  the  decease  of  his  brother  left 
alone,  and  that  they  wald  easily  get  their  hand  beyond  the  duke, 
being  ane  stranger  and  without  succession  of  his  body,  held  them 
quiet  for  a  season,  thinking  that  other  men's  action  should  be 
their  promotion.  But  seeing  that  the  duke,  as  a  prince  baith 
wise  and  virtuous,  to  bring  himself  out  of  sic  suspicion,  put  four 
lords  esteemit  of  the  maist  true  and  virtuous  in  Scotland  in  that 
time,  to  attend  on  the  king's  grace  (to  wit,  the  Earl  Marschall, 
the  Lords  Erskyn,  Ruthven,  and  Borthick)  the  Hamiltons  being 
out  of  hope  of  the  king's  putting  down  by  the  duke  of  Albany, 
and  out  of  credit  to  do  him  ony  harm  by  themselves,  made  ane 
conspiracy  with  certain  lords,  to  put  the  said  duke  out  of  authority, 
and  tak  it  on  themselves  :  that  all  things  put  in  their  power,  they 
micht  use  the  king,  and  the  realm  at  their  awn  pleasure. 

To  that  effect  they  took  the  castle  of  Glasgow,  and  there  made 
ane  assembly  of  their  faction,  the  whilk  was  dissolvit  by  the 
hasiy  coming  of  the  duke  of  Albany  with  ane  army  :  for  fear  of 


31 6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  whilk,  the  earl  of  Arran,  chief  of  that  company,  fled  to  his 
wife's  brother  the  Lord  Hume,  being  then  out  of  court. 

The  second  conspiracy  was  after  the  duke's  last  departing  (the 
foresaid  lords  separate  from  attending  on  the  king)  devysit  by  Sir 
James  Hamilton,  bastard  son  to  the  said  earl  of  Arran,  wha  con- 
spirit  the  king's  deith,  then  being  in  his  house  in  the  abbey  of 
Halyroodhouse  :  whilk  conspiracy  after  mony  years  reveallit,  the 
said  Sir  James  sufferit  death  for  it. 

The  third  conspiracy  (that  come  to  our  knowledge)  was,  that 
the  king's  grace  riding  oft  times  betwix  Striviling  and  the  Down 
of  Menteith,  to  visit  ane  gentle  woman  of  his  mother's,  making 
residence  in  the  Down,  and  commonly  accompanyit  with  ane,  or 
twa  horse  by  nicht,  the  said  Sir  James  proponit  to  certain  gentle- 
men the  sLauchter  of  him,  and  assayit  it  not,  because  the  executors 
wald  take  na  thing  on  hand  without  himself  had  been  present. 

Thir  conspiracies  not  being  execute.  Sir  James  perseverit  in 
his  evil  intention,  and  by  secret  means  in  court  socht  always  that 
the  king  sould  not  marry,  that  for  lack  of  his  succession,  the 
Hamiltons  micht  come  to  their  intents.  For  the  king  was  young, 
lusty,  and  ready  to  aventure  his  person  to  all  hazards,  baith  by 
sea  and  land,  in  down-putting  of  theifis,  and  up-setting  of  justice. 
The  Hamiltons  lookit  on  when  sickness,  through  excess  of  travail, 
or  some  other  reckless  aventure  sould  cut  him  off  without  children : 
and  destitute  of  this  hope,  first  he  stoppit  the  king's  meeting  with 
his  uncle  the  king  of  England,  wha  at  that  time  having  but  ane 
dochter,  was  willing  to  have  marryit  her  with  the  king  of  Scotland, 
and  made  him  king  of  the  haill  isle  after  him,  and  to  have  enterit 
him  at  that  present  time  in  possession  of  the  duchy  of  York. 
But  the  said  Sir  James  ever  having  eye  to  his  awn  scope,  hinderit 
this  purpose  by  some  of  the  king's  familiars,  that  he  had  practised 
with,  by  gifts,  and  specially  by  the  bishop  of  Saint  Andrews 
James  Betoun,  uncle  to  the  earl  of  Arran's  mother,  and  great 
uncle  to  Sir  James'  wife,  and  raisit  sic  suspicion  betwix  the  twa 
kings,  that  brocht  baith  the  realms  in  great  business. 

(From  the  Admonition  to  the  True  Lords.) 


RAPHAEL    HOLINSHED 

[Raphael  Holinshed  appears  to  have  been  the  son  of  Ralph  Holinshed  or 
Hollingshead  of  Cophurst  in  Cheshire.  He  was  born  within  the  first  thirty 
years  of  the  i6th  century.  He  is  said  to  have  been  educated  at  Cambridge, 
but  the  evidence  is  incomplete.  He  came  to  London  early  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth  and  obtained  employment  as  a  translator  in  the  printing  uHice  of 
Reginald  Wolfe. 

Wolfe  had  inherited  Leland's  notes,  and  for  many  years  had  projected  a 
universal  history  with  maps.  He  set  Holinshed  to  this  vast  piece  of  work, 
which  he  directed  until  his  death  in  1573.  At  that  time  no  part  of  the  under- 
taking was  fit  to  see  the  light.  But  Wolfe's  successors  adopted  the  plan  with 
limitations,  deciding  to  confine  themselves  to  a  Chronicle  of  Great  Britain  with 
descriptions.  They  desired  Holinshed  to  finish  the  Chronicle  of  England  and 
Scotland,  which  he  had  already  begun,  and  gave  him  the  assistance  of  William 
Harrison  in  the  description;  while  they  engaged  Richard  Stanihurst  to  complete 
\\\e.  Chronicle  of  Ireland,  compiled  by  Holinshed  up  to  the  year  1509,  chiefly 
from  a  manuscript  by  Edmund  Campian.  The  great  work  was  finished  in 
1578,  and  met  with  an  immediate  popularity. 

Holinshed  did  not  long  survive  its  publication.  He  made  his  will  on  ist 
October  1578,  describing  himself  as  steward  to  Thomas  Burdet  of  Bramcote, 
Warwickshire,  to  whom  he  bequeathed  all  his  "notes,  collections,  books,  and 
manuscripts."  Wood  tells  us  that  he  died  at  Bramcote  in  1580,  and,  in  fact, 
we  have  no  further  record  of  him.  ] 

Few  books  have  enjoyed  a  more  immediate  influence  than  the 
Chronicles  of  HoHnshed.  If  we  take  the  dusty  volumes  from 
their  shelf,  and  open  them  at  almost  any  page,  we  shall  easily 
find  the  reason  for  this  esteem  of  his  contemporaries  :  Holin- 
shed was  an  Elizabethan  among  the  Elizabethans.  His  style, 
cumbrous  with  reflection,  spangled  with  wise  saws  and  modern 
instances,  and  curious  with  grammatical  inversions,  is  of  a 
vivid  picturesqueness.  If  he  does  not  criticise  his  materials,  if  he 
is  prone  to  the  marvellous,  and  unable  to  resist  a  telling  story, 
he  is  capable  none  the  less  of  the  boldest  plain-speaking  in 
defence  of  his  convictions,  and  tells  the  truth  to  the   Queen  and 

317 


3i8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  Privy  Council.  His  conception  of  accuracy  is  different  from 
ours  :  he  is  at  httle  pains  to  establish  the  exact  conditions  of  a 
given  fact,  but  he  bestows  endless  patience  in  revealing  that 
state  of  mind  in  the  actor  which  made  the  fact  a  possibility. 
Every  detail  of  history  is  food  for  his  psychology ;  and  his 
Chronicles  are  an  epitome  of  the  work  of  conscience  in  the  human 
soul,  and  a  record  of  the  marvellous  ways  of  God  to  Man.  The 
very  fashion  of  his  wisdom  is  different  from  ours  ;  it  is  often  trite  if 
always  judicial,  it  is  less  original  than  profound  ;  it  is  constantly 
preoccupied  with  the  moral  root  of  the  matter.  There  is  little 
irony  in  it,  for  his  abuse  of  analysis  never  soured  in  Holinshed  the 
milk  of  human  kindness,  and  his  liberal  humanity  is  backed  up  by 
an  unshakeable  religion.  Such  as  he  is,  large  and  slow  and  solid, 
he  is  so  sure  a  guide  in  the  desperate  places  of  the  human  con- 
science, that  the  dramatists  of  his  time,  and  especially  Shakespeare, 
conveyed  from  his  chronicles  whole  characters,  entire  scenes,  with 
scarce  an  alteration.  We  may  follow  step  by  step  in  Shakespeare's 
plays,  his  delineation,  not  only  of  Richard  II.,  Henry  IV.,  and 
Henry  VIII.,  but  the  construction  of  the  other  historical  pieces; 
Macbeth  also,  with  King  Lear  and  part  of  Cymbeline.  Our  brief 
extracts  from  the  Chronicles,  if  compared  with  Shakespeare,  will 
show  the  master  fashion  in  which  the  poet  has  condensed 
Holinshed's  portrait  of  Sir  James  Tyrrell  into  his  '  discontented 
gentleman,'  and  developed  on  Bosworth  field  the  haunted  nights 
of  Richard  II.  ;  while  the  speech  of  Queen  Katharine  will  show 
that  it  was  not  only  facts  and  indications  of  character  which 
Shakespeare  in  an  indulgent  hour  would  deign  to  borrow  from  the 
chronicler.  The  witches  scene  in  the  history  of  Macbeth,  with 
the  description  of  the  flight  of  the  Empress  from  Oxford,  are 
examples  of  the  extraordinarily  picturesque  impression  which 
Holinshed  sometimes  produces  without  departing  from  his 
jog-trot  style. 

With  little  of  the  raciness  and  quaint  familiar  ease  which  make 
his  collaborator,  William  Harrison,  so  imperishable  a  gossip, 
Holinshed  is  a  sound  and  penetrating,  if  prejudiced,  guide  to  the 
history  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It  is  scarcely  a  defect  in  a  man  of 
that  time  to  have  believed  so  honestly  that  everything  Protestant 
and  English  is  necessarily  superior  to  anything  Catholic  or  foreign. 
He  narrates  the  truth  such  as  he  conceived  it,  and  with  a  hardi- 
hood which  more  than  once  brought  his  works  before  the  Privy 
Council.      He  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  speaks  of  desperate 


RAPHAEL  HOLINSHED  319 


men  still  living  with  a  freedom  in  his  long  analysis  of  their 
motives,  which  betrays  no  fear  of  a  private  vengeance.  His 
independence,  his  honesty,  his  wise  reflections  dashed  with  the 
vivid  brightnesses  of  a  quaint  though  ever  serious  spirit,  make  him 
a  valuable  companion  to  the  few  who  still  are  careful  of  his 
acquaintance. 

Mary  Darmesteter. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  EMPRESS  FROM  OXFORD 

King  Stephen,  after  his  deliverance  from  captivity,  had  as- 
sembled a  great  host  of  men,  and  coming  to  Oxford,  where  the 
Empress  then  lay,  suddenly  besieged  her,  before  she  looked  for 
him.  And  to  the  end  also  that  he  might  compel  the  townsmen  to 
yield,  or  else  keep  them  from  entering  in  which  would  come  to 
their  succours,  he  ranged  abroad  into  the  country  with  part  of  his 
army,  wasting  all  afore  him  by  fire  and  sword.  This  siege  con- 
tinued almost  two  months,  in  manner  from  his  delivery  in  the 
beginning  of  November  until  Christmas  immediately  following  : 
insomuch  that  through  lack  of  victuals  they  within  the  town  began 
to  raise  mutinies.  The  Empress  therefore,  doubting  the  sequel 
and  seeing  her  position  to  decay,  devised  a  shift  how  to  escape 
that  present  danger  which  by  force  she  was  unlikely  to  perform. 

It  was  a  very  hard  winter  that  year,  the  Thames  and  other 
rivers  thereabouts  were  frozen,  so  that  both  man  and  horse  might 
safely  pass  over  upon  the  ice.  The  fields  were  also  covered  with 
a  thick  and  deep  snow.  Hereupon  taking  occasion,  she  clad  her- 
self and  all  her  company  in  white  apparel,  that  afar  off  they  might 
not  be  discerned  from  the  snow  ;  and  so  by  negligence  of  the 
watch  that  kept  ward  but  slenderly,  by  reason  of  the  exceeding 
cold  weather,  she  and  her  pertainers  secretly  in  the  night  issued 
out  of  the  town,  and,  passing  over  the  Thames  came  to  Walling- 
ford,  where  she  was  received  into  the  castle  by  those  that  had  the 
same  in  keeping  to  her  use  :  of  whom  Brian,  the  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Gloucester,  was  the  chief 

Here  we  may  see  the  subtlety  of  the  Empress,  whereby  she 
obtained  free  and  safe  passage  out  of  her  enemies'  hands,  who 
otherwise  had  taken  her  in  their  net.  So  that  it  will  be  true,  that 
hath  never  been  false,  which  ^neas  Sylvius  (and  before  him  many 
more  driving  upon  the  like  argument)  doth  say  in  this  distichon: 

Non  audet  .Stygius  Pluto  tentare,  quod  audent 
Effraenis  monachus  plenacjue  fraudis  ilia, 

320 


RAPHAEL  HO  UNSHED  32 1 

meaning  iiiu/icr,  a  woman.  And  therefore  look  what  they  want  in 
magnanimity;  in  strength,  in  courage,  the  same  is  suppHed  by 
deceit,  by  circumvention,  by  craft,  by  fraud,  by  collusion  ;  some- 
times applied  to  a  good  intent,  but  most  commonly  directed  to 
an  evil  meaning  and  purpose,^  as  the  events  themselves-  do  many 
times  declare. 


THE   WEIRD    SISTERS 

Shortly  after  happened  a  strange  and  uncouth  wonder,  which 
afterward  was  the  cause  of  much  trouble  in  the  realm  of  Scotland, 
as  ye  shall  after  hear.  It  fortuned  as  Makbeth  and  Banquho 
journeyed  towards  Fores,  where  the  king  then  lay,  they  went 
sporting  by  the  way  together  without  other  company  save  only 
themselves,  passing  through  the  woods  and  fields,  when  suddenly 
in  the  middest  of  a  laund,  there  met  them  three  women  in  strange 
and  wild  apparel,  resembling  creatures  of  the  elder  world,  whom 
when  they  attentively  beheld,  wondering  much  at  the  sight,  the 
first  of  them  spake  and  said  : — 

"  All  hail  Makbeth,  thane  of  Glammis  !  " 

(for  he  had  lately  entered  into  that  office  by  the  death  of  his  father 
Sinell).      The  second  of  them  said  : — 

"  Hail  Makbeth,  thane  of  Cawder  !  " 
But  the  third  said  :— 

"  All  hail  Makbeth,  that  hereafter  shall  be  King  of  Scotland  ! " 

Then  Banquho  :  "  What  manner  of  women  (saith  he)  are  you 
that  seem  so  little  favourable  unto  me,  whereas  to  my  fellow  here, 
besides  high  offices,  ye  assign  also  the  kingdom,  appointing  forth 
nothing  for  me  at  all.-"'  "Yes,"  (saith  the  first  of  them,)  "we 
promise  greater  benefits  unto  thee  than  unto  him  ;  for  he  shall  reign 
indeed,  but  with  an  unlucky  end  ;  neither  shall  he  leave  any  issue 
behind  him  to  succeed  in  his  place,  when  certainly  thou  indeed 
shalt  not  reign  at  all,  but  of  thee  those  shall  be  born  which  shall 
govern  the  Scottish  kingdom  by  long  order  of  continual  descent." 
Herewith  the  fore  said  women  vanished  immediately  out  of  their 
VOL.  I 


322  ENGLISH  PROSE 


sight.  This  was  reputed  at  the  first  but  some  vain  fantastical 
illusion  by  Makbeth  and  Banquho,  insomuch  that  Banquho  would 
call  Makbeth  in  jest,  King  of  Scotland  ;  and  Makbeth  again  would 
call  him  in  sport  likewise,  father  of  many  kings.  But  afterwards  the 
common  opinion  was,  that  these  women  were  either  the  weird 
sisters,  that  is  (as  ye  would  say)  the  goddesses  of  destiny,  or  else 
some  nymphs  or  fairies,  indued  with  knowledge  of  prophecie  by 
their  necromatical  science,  because  everything  came  to  pass  as 
they  had  spoken. 


THE   MURDER  OF  THE   LITTLE  PRINCES 
IN  THE  TOWER 

King  Richard  after  his  coronation,  taking  his  way  to  Glou- 
cester to  visit  (in  his  new  honour)  the  town  of  which  he  bare  the 
name  of  his  old,  devised  (as  he  rode)  to  fulfil  the  things  which 
he  before  had  intended.  And  forsomuch  that  his  mind  gave  him, 
that  his  nephews  living,  men  would  not  reckon  that  he  could  have 
right  to  the  realm  ;  he  thought  therefore  without  delay  to  rid  them, 
as  though  the  killing  of  his  kinsmen  could  amend  his  cause  and 
make  him  a  kindly  king.  Whereupon  he  sent  one  Sir  John 
Greene  (whom  he  specially  trusted)  to  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury, 
Constable  of  the  Tower,  with  a  letter  and  credence  a,lso,  that  the 
same  Sir  Robert  should  in  any  wise  put  the  two  children  to  death. 

Sir  John  Greene  did  his  errand  unto  Brackenbury,  kneeling 
before  our  Lady  in  the  Tower,  who  plainly  answered  that  he  would 
never  put  them  to  death  to  die  therefore.  With  which  answer 
John  Greene  returning,  recounted  the  same  to  King  Richard  at 
Warwick  yet  in  his  way.  Wherewith  he  took  such  displeasure 
and  thought,  that  the  same  night  he  said  unto  a  secret  page  of 
his  :  "  Ah,  whom  shall  a  man  trust  ?  Those  that  I  have  brought 
up  myself,  those  that  I  had  weened  would  most  surely  serve  me, 
even  those  fail  me,  and  at  my  commandment  will  do  nothing  for 
me. " 

"  Sir  (said  his  page),  there  lieth  one  on  your  pallet  without, 
that  I  dare  well  say,  to  do  your  Grace  pleasure,  the  thing  were 
right  hard  that  he  would  refuse."  Meaning  this  by  Sir  James 
Tirrell,  which  was  a  man  of  right  goodly  personage,  and  for 
nature's  gifts  worthy  to  have  served  a  much  better  prince,  if  he 


RAPHAEL  HOLINSHED  323 

had  well  served  God,  and  by  grace  obtained  as  much  truth  and 
goodwill  as  he  had  strength  and  wit. 

The  man  had  a  high  heart,  and  sore  longed  upwards,  not  rising 
yet  so  fast  as  he  had  hoped,  being  hindered  and  kept  under  by 
the  means  of  Sir  Richard  Ratcliffe  and  Sir  William  Catesby,  which 
longing  for  no  more  partners  of  the  prince's  favour ;  and  namely, 
not  for  him  whose  pride  they  wist  would  bear  no  peer,  kept  him 
by  secret  drifts  out  of  all  secret  trust,  which  thing  this  page  well 
had  marked  and  known.  Wherefore,  this  occasion  offered  of  very 
special  friendship,  he  took  his  time  to  put  him  forward,  and  by 
such  wise  do  him  good  that  all  the  enemies  he  had  (except  the 
devil)  could  never  have  done  him  so  much  hurt.  For  upon  this 
page's  words  King  Richard  arose  (for  this  communication  had  he 
sitting  apart  in  his  own  chamber)  and  came  out  into  the  pallet 
chamber,  on  which  he  found  in  bed  Sir  James  and  Sir  Thomas 
Tirrells,  of  person  like,  and  brethren  in  blood,  but  nothing  akin 
in  conditions. 

Then  said  the  King  merrily  to  them  :  "  What,  Sirs,  be  ye  in 
bed  so  soon?"  and,  calling  up  Sir  James,  brake  to  him  secretly 
his  mind  in  this  mischievous  matter.  In  which  he  found  him 
nothing  strange.  Wherefore  on  the  morrow  he  sent  him  to 
Brackenbury  with  a  letter,  by  which  he  was  commanded  to  deliver 
Sir  James  all  the  keys  of  the  Tower  for  one  night,  to  the  end  he 
might  there  accomplish  the  king's  pleasure  in  such  things  as  he 
had  given  him  commandment.  After  which  letter  delivered,  and 
the  keys  received,  Sir  James  appointed  the  night  next  ensuing  to 
destroy  them,  devising  before  and  preparing  the  means.  The 
prince  (as  soon  as  the  Protector  left  that  name  and  took  himself 
as  King)  had  it  showed  unto  him  that  he  should  not  reign,  but  his 
uncle  should  have  the  crown.  At  which  word  the  prince  sore 
abashed  began  to  sigh,  and  said  :  "  Alas,  I  would  my  uncle  would 
let  me  have  my  life  yet,  though  I  lose  my  kingdom." 

Then  he  that  told  him  the  tale,  used  him  with  good  words,  and 
put  him  in  the  best  comfort  he  could.  But  forthwith  was  the 
prince  and  his  brother  both  shut  up,  and  all  other  removed  from 
them,  only  one  (called  Black  Will  or  William  Slaughter)  excepted, 
set  to  serve  them  and  see  them  sure.  After  which  time  the 
prince  never  tied  his  points  nor  aught  wrought  of  himself,  but, 
with  that  young  babe  his  brother,  lingered  with  thought  and 
heaviness,  until  this  traitorous  death  delivered  them  of  that 
wretchedness.     For  Sir  James  Tirrell  devised  that  they  should  be 


324  ENGLISH  PROSE 


murdered  in  their  beds.  To  the  execution  whereof  he  appointed 
Miles  Forrest,  one  of  the  four  that  kept  them,  a  fellow  fleshed  in 
murder  before  time.  To  him  he  joined  one  John  Dighton,  his 
own  horse-keeper,  a  big,  broad,  square,  and  strong  knave. 

Then  all  the  other  being  removed  from  them,  this  Miles 
Forrest  and  John  Dighton,  about  midnight  (the  seely  children 
lying  in  their  beds)  came  to  the  chamber,  and  suddenly  lapping 
them  up  among  the  clothes,  so  too  bewrapped  them  and  entangled 
them,  keeping  down  by  force  the  feather  bed  and  pillows  hard 
unto  their  mouths,  that  within  a  while,  smothered  and  stifled, 
their  breath  failing,  they  gave  up  to  God  their  innocent  souls  into 
the  joys  of  Heaven,  leaving  to  the  tormentors  their  bodies  dead 
in  the  bed.  Which  after  that  the  wretches  perceived,  first  by  the 
struggling  with  the  pains  of  death,  and  after  long  lying  still  to  be 
thoroughly  dead,  they  laid  their  bodies  naked  out  upon  the  bed, 
and  fetched  Sir  James  to  see  them  ;  which  upon  the  sight  of  them 
caused  those  murderers  to  bury  them  at  the  stair-foot,  meetly  deep 
in  the  ground,  under  a  great  heap  of  stones. 

Then  rode  Sir  James  in  great  haste  to  King  Richard,  and 
shewed  him  all  the  manner  of  the  murder  ;  who  gave  him  great 
thanks  and  (as  some  say)  there  made  him  knight.  But  he  allowed 
not  (as  I  have  heard)  the  burying  in  so  vile  a  corner,  saying  that 
he  would  have  them  buried  in  a  better  place,  because  they  were  a 
king's  sons.  Lo,  the  honourable  courage  of  a  King  !  Whereupon 
they  say  that  a  priest  of  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury's  took  up  the 
bodies  again  and  secretly  enterred  them  in  such  place  as,  by  the 
occasion  of  his  death  which  only  knew  it,  could  never  since  come 
to  light.  Very  truth  is  it  and  well  known,  that  at  such  time  as 
Sir  James  Tirrell  was  in  the  Tower  for  treason  committed  against 
the  most  famous  prince  King  Henry  the  Seventh,  both  Dighton 
and  he  were  examined  and  confessed  the  murder  in  manner  above 
written,  but  whither  the  bodies  were  removed  they  could  nothing 
tell. 

And  thus  (as  I  have  learned  of  them  that  must  know  and  little 
cause  had  to  lie)  were  these  two  noble  princes,  these  innocent  tender 
children,  born  of  most  royal  blood,  brought  up  in  great  wealth, 
likely  long  to  live,  reign,  and  rule  in  the  realm,  by  traitorous 
tyranny  taken,  deprived  of  their  estate,  shortly  shut  up  in  prison 
and  privily  slain  and  murdered,  their  bodies  cast  God  wot  where, 
by  the  cruel  ambition  of  their  unnatural  uncle  and  his  despiteous 
tormentors,  which  things  on  every  part  well  pondered,  God  never 


RAPHAEL  HOLINSHED  325 

gave  this  world  a  more  notable  example,  neither  in  what  unsurety 
standeth  this  worldly  weal  ;  or  what  mischief  worketh  the  proud 
enterprise  of  an  high  heart ;  or  finally  what  wretched  end  ensueth 
such  despiteous  cruelty. 

For  first,  to  begin  with  the  ministers,  Miles  Forrest  at  St. 
Martins  piece-meal  rotted  away.  Dighton  indeed  yet  walketh  on 
alive,  in  good  possibility  to  be  hanged  yet  ere  he  die.  But  Sir 
James  Tirrell  died  at  the  Tower  Hill,  beheaded  for  treason.  King 
Richard  himself,  as  ye  shall  hereafter  hear,  slain  in  the  field, 
hacked  and  hewed  of  his  enemies'  hands,  harried  on  horseback 
dead,  his  hair  in  despite  torn  and  tugged  like  a  cur  dog  ;  and  the 
mischief  that  he  took  within  less  than  three  years  of  the  mischief 
that  he  did  ;  and  yet  all  (in  the  meantime)  spent  in  much  pain  and 
trouble  outward,  much  fear,  anguish,  and  sorrow  within.  .  .  .  He 
never  thought  himself  sure.  Where  he  went  abroad  his  eyes 
whirled  about,  his  body  privily  fenced,  his  hand  ever  upon  his 
dagger,  his  countenance  and  manner  like  one  always  ready  to 
strike  again,  he  took  ill  rest  o'  nights,  lay  long  waking  and 
musing,  sore  wearied  with  care  and  watch,  rather  slumbered  than 
slept,  much  troubled  with  fearful  dreams,  suddenly  sometimes  start 
up,  leapt  out  of  his  bed  and  ran  about  the  chamber  ;  so  was  his 
restless  heart  continually  tossed  and  tumbled  with  the  tedious 
impression  and  stormy  remembrance  of  his  abominable  deeds. 


THE  TRIAL  OF   QUEEN   KATHARINE 

The  judges  commanded  silence  while  their  commission  was 
read  both  to  the  court  and  to  the  people  assembled.  That  done 
the  scribes  commanded  the  crier  to  call  the  King  by  the  name 
of  "  King  Henry  of  England,  come  into  the  Court  !  "  etc.  With 
that  the  King  answered  and  said  "  Here  !  "  Then  called  he  the 
Queen  by  the  name  of  "  Katharine,  Queen  of  England,  come  into 
the  Court  !  "  etc.  Who  made  no  answer  but  rose  out  of  her  chair. 
And  because  she  could  not  come  to  the  king  directly  for  the 
distance  severed  between  them,  she  went  about  by  the  court  and 
came  to  the  king,  kneeling  down  at  his  feet,  to  whom  she  said  in 
effect  as  followeth  :  "  Sir,"  (quoth  she)  "  I  desire  you  to  do  me 
justice  and  right,  and  take  some  pity  upon  me,  for  I  am  a  poor 
woman  and  a  stranger,  born  out  of  your  dominion,  having  here  no 


326  ENGLISH  PROSE 

indifferent  counsel  and  less  assurance  of  friendship.  Alas,  sir, 
what  have  I  offended  ypu,  and  what  occasion  of  displeasure  have 
I  showed  you,  intending  thus  to  put  me  from  you  after  this  sort  ? 
I  take  God  to  my  judge,  I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble 
wife,  ever  conformable  to  your  will  and  pleasure,  that  never  con- 
traried  or  gainsaid  anything  thereof,  and  being  always  contented 
with  all  things  wherein  you  had  any  delight,  whether  little  or 
much,  without  grudge  or  displeasure.  I  loved  for  your  sake  all 
them  whom  you  loved,  whether  they  were  my  friends  or  enemies. 

I  have  been  your  wife  these  twenty  years  and  more,  you  have 
had  by  me  divers  children.  If  there  be  any  just  cause  that 
you  can  alledge  against  me,  either  of  dishonesty  or  matter  lawful 
to  put  me  from  you  ;  I  am  content  to  depart  to  my  shame  and 
rebuke  :  and  if  there  be  none,  then  I  pray  you  to  let  me  have 
justice  at  your  hand.  The  king,  your  father,  was  in  his  time  of 
excellent  wit,  and  the  King  of  Spain,  my  father  Ferdinando,  was 
reckoned  one  of  the  wisest  princes  that  reigned  in  Spain  many 
years  before.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted,  but  that  they  had  gathered 
as  wise  counsellors  unto  them  of  every  realm  as  to  their  wisdoms 
they  thought  meet,  who  deemed  the  marriage  between  you  and  me 
good  and  lawful,  etc.  Wherefore  I  humbly  desire  you  to  spare 
me  until  I  may  know  what  counsel  my  friends  in  Spain  will 
advertise  me  to  take.  And  if  you  will  not,  then  your  pleasure 
be  fulfilled.''  With  that  she  arose  up,  making  a  low  curtsey  to 
the  king,  and  departed  from  thence. 

The  king  being  advertised  that  she  was  ready  to  go  out  of  the 
house,  commanded  the  crier  to  call  her  again,  who  called  her  by 
these  words :  "  Katharine,  Queen  of  England,  come  into  the 
Court!"  With  that,  quoth  Master  Griffith— "  Madam,  you  be 
called  again."  "  On,  on  !  (quoth  she)  it  maketh  no  matter.  I 
will  not  tarry.  Go  on  your  ways."  And  thus  she  departed, 
making  no  further  answer  at  that  time,  or  any  other,  and  never 
would  appear  after  in  any  court.  The  king  perceiving  she 
was  departed  said  these  words  in  effect  :  "  Forasmuch  (quoth  he) 
as  the  Oueen  is  gone,  I  will  in  her  .absence  declare  to  you  all  that 
she  hath  been  to  me  as  true,  as  obedient,  and  as  conformal^le  a 
wife  as  1  would  wish  or  desire.  She  hath  all  the  virtuous  qualities 
that  ought  to  be  in  a  woman  of  her  dignity,  or  in  any  other  of  a 
baser  estate  ;  she  is  also  surely  a  noble  woman  born,  her  conditions 
will  well  declare  the  same." 


JOHN   FOXE 

[Foxe  was  born  at  Boston  in  1516,  and  educated  at  Oxford,  where  he 
became  Fellow  of  Magdalen.  He  had  a  delicate  conscience  on  the  subject  of 
ceremonies,  and  resigned  his  fellowship  in  1545.  In  1547  he  married.  From 
1548  to  1553  he  was  tutor  to  the  children  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey.  In  1553  he 
lost  his  tutorship,  and,  holding  by  this  time  pronounced  Protestant  opinions, 
he  retired  to  the  Continent,  and  in  1554  had  printed,  at  Strasburg,  a  Latin 
sketch  on  the  lines  of  his  future  Acts  and  Monu?nents,  but  ending  with  the 
year  1500.  After  a  short  stay  at  Frankfort  he  settled  at  Basle  as  corrector  of 
the  press  for  the  printer  Oporinus,  who  publi.'shed  in  1559  the  first  edition,  in 
Latin,  of  the  Book  of  Martyrs.  Foxe  returned  to  England  in  1559,  and  in 
1563  the  work,  with  many  additions,  was  i.ssued  by  John  Day  in  English. 
Further  editions,  all  in  folio,  were  issued  in  1570,  1576,  1583,  1596,  1610, 
1632,  1641,  and  1684.      He  died  in  1587.] 

After  the  Bible  itself,  no  work  so  profoundly  influenced  early- 
Protestant  sentiment  in  England  as  the  Book  of  Martyrs.  Even 
in  our  own  time  it  is  still  a  living  force  :  some  of  its  descriptions 
are  burned  into  the  memories  of  us  all,  and  its  spirit  is  perpetuated 
in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  in  other  religious  classics,  as  well 
as  in  the  tradition  of  countless  households.  When  it  first 
appeared,  in  1563,  the  religious  question  was  paramount.  An 
infant  church,  torn  with  the  pang  of  recent  separation,  sought  to 
justify  its  departure  from  the  bosom  of  Roman  Christendom.  In 
Foxe  it  found  a  worthy  apologist,  who  saw,  and  made  it  see,  in 
its  slaughtered  saints,  a  glorious  proof  of  its  apostolic  birth.  His 
book  is  throughout  an  exalted  commentary  on  the  text,  "  The 
blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church."  From  beginning 
to  end  it  is  inspired  by  the  great  conception,  which  its  pages  first 
made  part  of  the  national  consciousness,  that  faith  is  made  per- 
fect by  suffering  without  distinction  of  age  or  country.  "  If  com- 
parison be  to  be  made  between  saint  and  saint,  martyr  and 
martyr,  with  whom  might  I  better  match  this  blessed  martyr, 
John  Hooper,  than  with  Polycarp,  the  ancient  Bishop  of  Smyrna  ? 

327 


328  ENGLISH  PROSE 


For   as  both   agreed  together  in   one   kind   of  punishment,  being 
both  put  to  the  fire,  so  which  of  them  showed  more  patience  and 
constancy  in  the  time  of  their  suffering  it  is  hard  to  be  said.    .   .   . 
In  teaching  ahke   diHgent  both,  in  zeal  fervent,  in  hfe  unspotted, 
in  manners  and  conversation  inculpable  :  bishops  and  also  martyrs 
both."      Such  words  as  these  were  at  once  balm  for  consolation 
and  a  battle  cry  in  conflict.       The  church  and  the   nation  felt 
themselves  raised  to  the  traditional  level ;  and  we  can  understand 
how  it  was  no  mere  accident   that  altered  the  title  which  Foxe 
gave  to  his  work — The  Acts  and  Mo}iuments  of  these  Latter  and 
Perilous  Days  touching  Matters  of  the  Church  —  to  its  popular 
designation,  The  Book  of  Martyrs^  and  gave  it  a  desk  side  by 
side  with  the  Bible  in  all  cathedrals  and  in  many  parish  churches. 
But  the  book  is  far  more  than  a  bare  record  of  persecution. 
It  is  an  arsenal  of  controversy,  and  a  storehouse  of  romance,  as 
well  as  a  source  of  edification.      Protestantism  is  traced  to  its 
origins  in  England,  Bohemia,  and  Germany,  and  the  corruptions 
which  had  crept  into  the  Church  of  Rome  are   exposed  at  enor- 
mous length  and  with  unsparing  denunciation.     The  same  method 
is  continued  in  treating  of  the   English   Reformation,  and  Foxe 
thus  avoids  an  error  which  makes  so  many  Lives  of  the  Saints 
mere   catalogues    of  painful    perfections.       He    plunges,    indeed, 
into  the  opposite  extreme.      He  accumulates   details  like   Defoe  ; 
he  is  as  garrulous  as   Dogberry.      All  is  grist   that  comes  to  his 
mill.       Citations,    rejoinders,    lengthy    dialogues,    eye  -  witnesses' 
narratives,  judgments   and  sentences — whole  piles  of  documents 
(with  pithy  commentaries  on  each)  are  heaped  one  upon  the  other 
till  we  almost  hear  the  parchments  crackling.     "  I  grant,"  he  says, 
"  that  in  a  laboured  story  containing  such  infinite  variety  of  matter 
as  this  doth,  much  more   time  would  be  required  ;  but  such  time 
as  I  had,  that  I  did  bestow,  if  not   so  laboriously  as  others  could, 
yet  as  diligently  as  I  might.    ...    I  grant    and  confess   my  fault  ; 
such  is  my  vice,  I  cannot  sit  all   the  day  fining    and  mincing  my 
letters,  and  combing   my  head  and  smoothing   myself  at  the  glass 
of  Cicero."     The  painting  is  often  rough  ;  we  can  see  the  boards 
through  rents  in  the  canvas.      But  the  scenes  are  presented  with 
all  the  vividness  of  a  dramatic  representation  :  inquisitors,  martyrs, 
and    spectators   are    instinct    with    life    and    movement,    and   we 
involuntarily  remember  that    Foxe   lived   among  the  precursors  of 
Shakespeare.      The  effect  of  the  whole  is  to  leave  upon  the  reader 
a  strong  impression   of  reality,  which,  it  must  be  added,  does  not 


JOHN  FOXE  .  329 

in  every  case  stand  the  test  of  impartial  inquiry — for  Foxe  some- 
times allowed  policy  or  prejudice  to  prevail  over  truth.  He  has 
a  keen  sense  of  the  interesting,  and  often  goes  out  of  his  way  to 
introduce  an  amusing  episode  or  to  quote  a  homely  trait  of 
character.  He  is  a  born  story-teller.  His  command  of  pathos  is 
great,  well  nigh  intolerable.  He  describes  the  most  horrible 
barbarities  with  a  matter-of-fact  calmness  than  which  nothing 
could  be  better  calculated  to  stir  the  deepest  springs  of  indigna- 
tion. It  is  easy  to  believe,  with  the  historian  of  the  English 
Puritans,  that  "  No  book  ever  gave  such  a  mortal  wound  to  Popery 
as  this." 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


CRANMER    AT    THE    STAKE 

But  when  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  holy  bishops  and 
martyrs  of  God,  Hugh  Latimer  and  Nicholas  Ridley,  were  burnt 
before  him  for  the  confession  of  the  truth,  kneeling  down,  he 
prayed  to  God  ;  and  not  long  tarrying  in  his  prayers,  putting  off 
his  garments  to  his  shirt,  he  prepared  himself  to  death.  His 
shirt  was  made  long,  down  to  his  feet.  His  feet  were  bare  ;  like- 
wise his  head,  when  both  his  caps  were  off,  was  so  bare,  that  one 
hair  could  not  be  seen  upon  it.  His  beard  was  long  and  thick, 
covering  his  face  with  marvellous  gravity.  Such  a  countenance 
of  gravity  moved  the  hearts  both  of  his  friends  and  of  his  enemies. 

Then  the  Spanish  friars,  John  and  Richard,  of  whom  mention 
was  made  before,  began  to  exhort  him,  and  play  their  parts  with 
him  afresh,  but  with  vain  and  lost  labour.  Cranmer,  with  stead- 
fast purpose  abiding  in  the  profession  of  his  doctrine,  gave  his 
hand  to  certain  old  men,  and  others  that  stood  by,  bidding  them 
farewell. 

And  when  he  had  thought  to  have  done  so  likewise  to  Ely, 
the  said  Ely  drew  back  his  hand,  and  refused,  saying  it  was  not 
lawful  to  salute  heretics,  and  specially  such  a  one  as  falsely  re- 
turned unto  the  opinions  that  he  had  foresworn.  And  if  he  had 
known  before,  that  he  would  have  done  so,  he  would  never  have 
used  his  company  so  familiarly  :  and  chid  those  sergeants  and 
citizens  which  had  not  refused  to  give  him  their  hands.  This 
Ely  was  a  priest  lately  made,  and  student  in  divinity,  being  then 
one  of  the  fellows  of  Brasennose. 

Then  was  an  iron  chain  tied  about  Cranmer,  whom  when  they 
perceived  to  be  more  steadfast  than  that  he  could  be  moved  from 
his  sentence,  they  commanded  the  fire  to  be  set  unto  him. 

And  when  the  wood  was  kindled,  and  the  fire  began  to  burn 
near  him,  stretching  out  his  arm,  he  put  his  right  hand  into  the 
flame,   which  he  held  so  steadfast  and  immovable  (saving  that 

33? 


JOHN  FOXE  331 

once  with  the  same  hand  he  wiped  his  face),  that  all  men  might 
see  his  hand  burned  before  his  body  was  touched.  His  body  did 
so  abide  the  burning  of  the  flame  with  such  constancy  and  stead- 
fastness, that  standing  always  in  one  place  without  moving  his 
body,  he  seemed  to  move  no  more  than  the  stake  to  which  he 
was  bound  ;  his  eyes  were  lifted  up  into  heaven,  and  oftentimes 
he  repeated  "  his  unworthy  right  hand,"  so  long  as  his  voice 
would  suffer  him  ;  and  using  often  the  words  of  Stephen  "  Lord 
Jesus,  receive  my  spirit,"  in  the  greatness  of  the  flame  he  gave 
up  the  ghost. 

(From  the  Acts  and  Monuments.) 


ROSE   ALLIN 

Then  he  gave  her  leave  and  bade  her  go.  So  her  daughter  the 
forenamed  Rose  Allin,  maid,  took  a  stone  pot  in  one  hand,  and  a 
candle  in  the  other,  and  went  to  draw  drink  for  her  mother  :  and 
as  she  came  back  again  through  the  house,  Tyrrel  met  her,  and 
willed  her  to  give  her  father  and  mother  good  counsel,  and  ad- 
vertise them  to  be  better  catholic  people. 

Rose.  "  Sir,  they  have  a  better  instructor  than  I  ;  for  the  Holy 
Ghost  doth  teach  them,  I  hope,  which  I  trust  will  not  suffer  them 
to  err." 

"  Why,"  said  master  Tyrrel,  "  art  thou  still  in  that  mind,  thou 
naughty  housewife  ?  Marry  it  is  time  to  look  upon  such  heretics 
indeed." 

Rose.  "  Sir,  with  that  which  you  call  heresy,  do  I  worship  my 
Lord  God  ;   I  tell  you  troth." 

Tyrrel.  "  Then  I  perceive  you  will  burn,  gossip,  with  the  rest, 
for  company's  sake." 

Rose.  "  No,  sir,  not  for  company's  sake,  but  for  my  Christ's 
sake,  if  so  I  be  compelled  ;  and  I  hope  in  His  mercies  if  He  call 
me  to  it,  He  will  enable  me  to  bear  it." 

So  he,  turning  to  his  company,  said,  "  Sirs,  this  gossip  will 
bum:  do  you  not  think  it?"  "Marry,  sir,"  quoth  one,  "prove 
her,  and  you  shall  see  what  she  will  do  by  and  by." 

Then  that  cruel  Tyrrel,  taking  the  candle  from  her,  held  her 
wrist,  and  the  burning  candle  under  her  hand,  burning  cross-wise 
over  the  back  thereof  so  long,  till  the  very  sinews  cracked  asunder. 


332  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Witness  hereof  William  Candler,  then  dwelling  in  Much  Bentley, 
who  was  there  present  and  saw  it.  Also  Mistress  Bright  of  Rom- 
ford, with  Ann  Starkey  her  maid,  to  whoin  Rose  Allin  also  both 
declared  the  same  ;  and  the  said  Mistress  Bright  also  ministered 
salve  for  the  curing  thereof,  as  she  lay  in  her  house  at  Romford 
going  up  towards  London  with  other  prisoners. 

But  she,  quietly  suffering  his  rage  for  the  time,  at  the  last  said, 
"  Sir,  have  ye  done  what  ye  will  do  ?"  And  he  said,  "Yea,  and 
if  thou  think  it  be  not  well,  then  mend  it." 

"  Mend  it  !"  .said  Rose,  "nay,  the  Lord  mend  you,  and  give 
you  repentance,  if  it  be  His  will.  And  now,  if  you  think  it  good, 
begin  at  the  feet,  and  bum  to  the  head  also.  For  he  that  set 
you  a  work,  shall  pay  you  your  wages  one  day,  I  warrant  you." 
And   so   she   went   and   carried   her   mother   drink,    as   she   was 


commanded. 


(From  the  Same.) 


CICELY    ORMES 


This  Cicely  Ormes  was  a  very  simple  woman,  but  yet  zealous  in 
the  Lord's  cause,  being  born  in  East  Dereham,  and  was  there 
the  daughter  of  one  Thomas  Haund,  tailor.  She  was  taken  the 
5th  day  of  July,  and  did  for  a  twelvemonth  before  she  was  taken, 
recant  ;  but  never  after  was  she  quiet  in  conscience,  until  she  was 
utterly  driven  from  all  their  popery.  Between  the  time  that  she 
recanted,  and  that  she  was  taken,  she  had  gotten  a  letter  made 
to  give  to  the  chancellor,  to  let  him  know  that  she  repented  her 
recantation  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  would  never  do  the 
like  again  while  she  lived  ;  but  before  she  exhibited  her  bill,  she 
was  taken  and  sent  to  prison,  as  is  before  said.  She  was  burnt 
the  23rd  day  of  September,  between  seven  and  eight  of  the  clock  in 
the  morning,  the  said  two  sheriffs  being  there,  and  of  people  to 
the  number  of  two  hundred.  When  she  came  to  the  stake,  she 
kneeled  down,  and  made  her  prayers  to  God  :  that  being  done, 
she  rose  up  and  said, — 

"  Good  people  !  I  believe  in  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son, 
and  God  the  Holy  Ghost,  three  persons  and  one  God.  This  do 
I  not,  nor  will  I  recant :  but  I  recant  utterly  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  the  doings  of  the  pope  of  Rome,  and  all  his  popish 


JOHN  FOXE  333 

priests  and  shavelings.  I  utterly  refuse  and  never  will  have  to 
do  with  them  again,  by  God's  grace.  And,  good  people  !  I  would 
you  should  not  think  of  me  that  I  believe  to  be  saved  in  that  I 
offer  myself  here  unto  the  death  for  the  Lord's  cause,  but  I  believe 
to  be  saved  by  the  death  and  passion  of  Christ ;  and  this  my 
death  is  and  shall  be  a  witness  of  my  faith  unto  you  all  here 
present  Good  people  !  as  many  of  you  as  believe  as  I  believe, 
pray  for  me.' 

Then  she  came  to  the  stake,  and  laid  her  hand  on  it,  and  said, 
"  Welcome  the  cross  of  Christ."  Which  being  done,  she,  looking 
on  her  hand,  and  seeing  it  blacked  with  the  stake,  wiped  it  upon 
her  smock  ;  for  she  was  burnt  at  the  same  stake  that  Simon 
Miller  and  Elizabeth  Cooper  was  burnt  at.  Then,  after  she  had 
touched  it  with  her  hand,  she  came  and  kissed  it,  and  said, 
"  Welcome  the  sweet  cross  of  Christ "  ;  and  so  gave  herself  to  be 
bound  thereto.  After  the  tormentors  had  kindled  the  fire  to  her, 
she  said,  "  My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  my  spirit  rejoic- 
eth  in  God  my  Saviour."  And  in  so  saying,  she  set  her  hands 
together  right  against  her  breast,  casting  her  eyes  and  head  up- 
ward ;  and  so  stood,  heaving  up  her  hands  by  little  and  little, 
till  the  very  sinews  of  her  arms  did  break  asunder,  and  then  they 
fell.  But  she  yielded  her  life  unto  the  Lord  as  quietly  as  if  she 
had  been  in  a  slumber,  or  as  one  feeling  no  pain  ;  so  wonderfully 
did  the  Lord  work  with  her :  His  name  therefore  be  praised  for 
evermore.     Amen ! 

(From  the  Same.) 


SIR  THOMAS  NORTH 

[Sir  Thomas  North,  translator  of  Plutarch  and  Guevara,  was  the  son  of 
Edward  North,  first  Baron  North  of  Kirtling.  The  most  of  our  knowledge 
concerning  him  is  derived  from  the  title-pages  of  his  translations.  He  trans- 
lated Guevara  in  1557,  and  Plutarch  (from  the  French  of  Amyot)  in  1579. 
In  1601  there  appeared  The  Morall  Philosophie  of  Doni,  "  Englished  out  of 
Italian  by  Sir  Thomas  North,  Knight,"  and  little  else  is  recorded  of  him  but 
that  he  was  still  alive  in  1603.] 

Sir  Thomas  North's  Plutarch  has  won  a  wider  celebrity 
than  any  other  of  the  Tudor  translations,  because  it  afforded 
Shakespeare  a  direct  and  potent  inspiration.  Not  only  did  the 
dramatist  seek  his  material  in  the  English  version  of  The  Lives, 
but  he  did  not  disdain  to  adopt  the  very  turns  and  phrases  of 
their  translator.  Thus  has  a  sentimental,  though  legitimate, 
interest  been  aroused  in  a  work  which  may  claim  our  admiration 
and  respect  for  its  own  most  solid  merits.  The  discovery  of  the 
masterpieces  of  classical  literature  to  such  as  had  little  Latin  and 
less  Greek  was  an  enterprise  which  suited  the  Elizabethan  spirit 
of  adventure.  Nor  was  it  undertaken  with  the  narrow  ambition 
of  the  pedant.  Sir  Thomas  North  was  a  man  of  letters  rather 
than  a  scholar.  His  translation  is  not  marred  by  the  timid 
accuracy  and  awkwardness  which  distinguish  the  modern  crib. 
He  did  not  even  trouble  to  acquaint  himself  with  the  Greek 
original,  and  made  his  version  from  the  French  of  "  James 
Amiot,  Abbot  of  Bellozane,  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  one  of  the  King's 
privie  counsell,  and  great  Almner  of  France."  Though  he 
followed  Amyot  with  tolerable  fidelity,  in  places  he  permitted 
himself  a  liberal  treatment  of  the  French,  so  that  his  version, 
made  at  secondhand  with  admirable  vigour  and  freshness,  is  free 
from  the  vices  which  are  wont  to  mar  even  the  most  finished 
translations.      Indeed,  from  end  to  end  the  Plutarch  displays  the 

335 


336  ENGLISH  PROSE 


strength  and  colour  of  an  original  work.  There  are  no  traces  of 
the  restraint  imposed  by  a  foreign  idiom.  North's  style  was  in  a 
sense  his  own  invention.  His  vocabulary  is  expressive  and 
copious.  His  knowledge  of  French,  Latin,  and  Italian  gave  him 
a  generous  command  of  strange  words,  which  he  did  not  shrink 
from  Anglicising  at  need.  Thus  we  find  "  Almaines,"  "  seigniory," 
"ambassade,"  with  such  curious  Latinisms  as  "  manumissed," 
"divines"  (soothsayers),  and  "pilled"  in  its  etymological  sense, 
"  neither  pilled  nor  polled  "  being  North's  equivalent  for  "  neither 
robbed  nor  taxed."  Of  words  which  have  now  become  obsolete 
or  colloquial  North  had  an  endless  store,  and  if  you  would 
match  his  use  of  them  you  must  have  recourse  to  Cotgrave 
or  Nares.  "  Cop-tank,"  "  slent  "  (a  jest),  and  "  yarage  "  (surely 
a  aTra^  Aeyo/xevov)  are  like  dashes  of  colour  on  the  folio  page. 
How  fine  a  flavour  of  slang  is  there  in  the  phrase,  "  Alcibiades 
smelling  straight  their  fetch  !  "  What  more  polished  metaphor 
would  be  so  expressive  ?  And  it  was  by  the  use  of  these 
and  similar  words  and  locutions  that  North  imposed  a  distinc- 
tive character  upon  his  work.  Now  and  again  we  encounter 
an  expression  which,  though  exiled  from  literature,  is  still 
heard  at  the  street  corner.  "  She  gave  it  him  finely,"  says 
North  of  Cleopatra,  and  Pericles  is  described  as  "  Pisistratus 
up  and  down."  But  English  prose  has  altered  strangely 
since  the  sixteenth  century.  The  language  of  letters  has 
more  definitely  divorced  itself  from  the  dialect  of  everyday 
life.  There  has  been  a  gain  of  accuracy,  but  a  serious  loss  of 
vigour.  Though  Sir  Thomas  North  contributed  indirectly  to  the 
triumph  of  Euphuism  by  his  translation  of  Guevara's  Dial  of 
Princes^  he  came  before  Lyly — whose  Euphnes  was  published  in 
the  same  year  as  the  Lives — and  escaped  the  affectations  and 
deliberate  antitheses  which  were  cultivated  by  a  whole  generation. 
So  that  his  prose  is  as  easy  and  flexible  an  instrument  as  can  be 
imagined.  He  cherishes  no  rigid  superstition  concerning  the 
"parts  of  speech."  His  syntax  is  far  more  various  and  complex 
than  the  syntax  of  to-day.  If  he  choose,  adjectives  and  nouns 
are  straightway  converted  into  verbs.  "Though  Nicias  did  con- 
trary it,"  he  writes,  and  again,  "  they  themselves  that  did  somewhat 
malice  and  envy  his  glory."  Indeed  he  employs  with  marvellous 
effect  all  the  resources  of  the  language.  For  him  there  is  more 
than  one  mood,  and  he  employs  countless  constructions.  His  long 
periods  are  always  relieved  by  a  pleasantly  changing  rhythm,  and 


SIR  THOMAS  NORTH  337 

despite  their  repetition  and  prolixity,  they  read  as  clearly  and 
cleanly  as  the  best  array  of  the  short  sentences  which  are  the 
mark  of  modern  prose.  Nor  does  his  style  suffer  from  a  tedious 
monotony.  Though  he  has  a  real  gusto  for  words,  though  he 
delights  above  all  things  in  strangely-devised  phrases  and  quaint 
turns,  he  can  write  English  as  pure  and  simple  as  may  be  found 
even  in  the  Authorised  Version.  It  is  difficult,  for  instance, 
to  surpass  the  directness  and  dignity  of  the  following  passage, 
wherein  is  described  the  arrival  of  Coriolanus  at  Antium  : — "  It 
was  even  twi-light  when  he  entred  the  city  of  Antium,  and  many 
people  met  him  in  the  streets,  but  no  man  knew  him.  So  he 
went  directly  to  Tullus  Aufidius  house,  and  when  he  came  thither, 
he  got  him  straight  to  the  chimney  hearth,  and  sate  him  down, 
and  spake  not  a  word  to  any  man,  his  face  all  muffled  over. 
They  of  the  house  spying  him,  wondered  what  he  should  be,  and 
yet  they  durst  not  bid  him  rise.  For  ill-favouredly  muffled  and 
disguised  as  he  was,  yet  there  appeared  a  certain  majesty  in  his 
countenance,  and  in  his  silence  :  whereupon  they  went  to  Tullus 
who  was  at  supper,  to  tell  him  of  the  strange  disguising  of  this 
man.  Tullus  rose  presently  from  the  board,  and  coming  towards 
him,  asked  him  what  he  was,  and  wherefore  he  came.  Then 
Martius  unmufifled  himself,  and  after  he  had  paused  a  while, 
making  no  answer,  he  said  unto  himselfe,  '  If  thou  knowest  me 
not  yet,  Tullus,  and  seeing  me,  doest  not  perhaps  believe  me  to 
be  the  man  I  am  indeede,  I  must  of  necessity  bewray  myself  to 
be  that  I  am.' "  Here  there  is  not  a  superfluous  or  impertinent 
word.  All  is  simple  and  restrained.  The  tone  is  properly  sub- 
dued to  the  subject,  and  the  passage  is  distinguished  by  that 
fitness,  which  is  the  essence  of  style.  At  other  times  Sir  Thomas 
will  produce  an  effect  by  alliteration  and  the  artifice  of  familiar 
slang.  Of  Alcibiadcs  it  is  said  that  he  put  men  in  trust,  "be- 
cause they  were  good  fellowes,  and  would  drinke  drunke  with 
him  and  were  full  of  mariners  mocks  and  knavish  jests."  So 
also  in  such  a  phrase  as  "sundry  delicate  dishes  of  Meats,  Tarts, 
and  Marchpaines,"  the  reader  cannot  but  admire  the  keen  curio- 
sity which  suggests  so  quaint  and  wholesome  a  word  as  "  March- 
paines." But  the  prime  merit  of  North  is  his  sustained  energy 
and  vigour.  The  prose  never  flags  :  whether  serious  or  gay, 
philosophic  or  narrative,  it  still  keeps  its  high  level  of  pro- 
gress. Its  colour  and  inventiveness  are  characteristic  of  the 
author  and  of  the  age  ;  a  fine  body  and  wholesome  substance  dis- 
VOL.  I  Z 


338  ENGLISH  PROSE 


tinguish  it  from  the  work  of  most  of  North's  contemporaries. 
Indeed,  though  The  Lives  of  the  Noble  Grecians  and  Romans  give 
us  but  an  indifferent  impression  of  Amyot,  and  no  sensation  6f 
Plutarch,  it  is  none  the  less  a  well  of  vital  and  genuine  English, 
and  one  among  the  richest  sources  of  our  literary  language. 


Charles  Whibley. 


THE  GREATNESS  OF   PERICLES 

But  Pericles  perceiving  that  the  orators  of  Thucydides'  faction  in 
their  common  orations  did  still  cry  out  upon  him,  that  he  did 
vainly  waste  and  consume  the  common  treasure,  and  that  he 
bestowed  upon  the  works  all  the  whole  revenue  of  the  city  ;  one 
day  when  the  people  were  assembled  together  before  them  all,  he 
isked  them  if  they  thought  that  the  cost  bestowed  were  too  much. 
The  people  answered  him,  a  great  deal  too  much.  Well,  said  he 
then,  the  charges  shall  be  mine  (if  you  think  good)  and  none  of 
yours  ;  provided  that  no  man's  name  be  written  upon  the  works 
but  mine  only.  When  Pericles  had  said  so,  the  people  cried  out 
aloud,  they  would  none  of  that  (either  because  that  they  wondered 
at  the  greatness  of  his  mind,  or  else  for  that  they  would  not  give 
him  the  only  honour  and  praise  to  have  done  so  sumptuous  and 
stately  works),  but  willed  him  that  he  should  see  them  ended  at 
the  common  charges,  without  sparing  for  any  cost.  But  in  the 
end,  falling  out  openly  with  Thucydides,  and  putting  it  to  an 
adventure  which  of  them  should  banish  other,  with  the  banishment 
of  ostracism:  Pericles  got  the  upper  hand,  and  banished  Thucy- 
dides out  of  the  city,  and  therewithal  also  overthrew  the  contrary 
faction  against  him.  Now  when  he  had  rooted  out  all  factions, 
and  brought  the  city  again  to  unity  and  concord,  he  found  then 
the  w^hole  power  of  Athens  in  his  hands,  and  all  the  Athenians' 
matters  at  his  disposing.  And  having  all  the  treasure,  armour, 
galleys,  the  isles,  and  the  sea,  and  a  marvellous  seigniory  and 
kingdom  (that  did  enlarge  itself  partly  over  the  Grecians,  and 
partly  over  the  barbarous  people)  so  well  fortified  and  strengthened 
with  the  obedience  of  nations  subject  unto  them,  with  the  friend- 
ship of  kings,  and  with  the  alliance  of  divers  other  princes  and 
mighty  lords  ;  then  from  that  time  forward  he  began  to  change  his 
manners  towards  the  people,  and  not  so  easily  to  give  place  and 
frame  himself  to  the  people's  wills  and  desires,  no  more  than  as  it 

339 


340  ENGLISH  PROSE 


were  to  contrary  winds.  Furthermore  he  altered  his  over-gentle 
and  popular  manner  of  government  which  he  used  until  that  time, 
as  too  delicate  and  too  effeminate  an  harmony  of  music,  and  did 
convert  it  unto  an  imperious  government,  or  rather  to  a  kingly 
authority  ;  but  yet  held  still  a  direct  course,  and  kept  himself  ever 
upright  without  fault,  as  one  that  did,  said,  and  counselled  that 
which  was  most  expedient  for  the  commonweal.  He  many  times 
brought  on  the  people  by  persuasions  and  reasons  to  be  willing  to 
grant  that  he  preferred  unto  them  ;  but  many  times  also  he  drave 
them  to  it  by  force,  and  made  them  against  their  wills  do  that 
which  was  best  for  them.  Following  therein  the  device  of  a  wise 
physician,  who  in  a  long  and  changeable  disease  doth  grant  his 
patient  sometimes  to  take  his  pleasure  of  a  thing  he  liketh,  but  yet 
after  a  moderate  sort  ;  and  another  time  also,  he  doth  give  him  a 
sharp  or  bitter  medicine  that  doth  vex  him,  though  it  heal  him. 
For  (as  it  falleth  out  commonly  unto  people  that  enjoy  so  great 
an  empire)  many  times  misfortunes  did  chance,  that  filled  them 
full  of  sundry  passions,  the  which  Pericles  alone  could  finely  steer 
and  govern  with  two  principal  rudders,  fear  and  hope  ;  bridling 
with  the  one  the  fierce  and  insolent  rashness  of  the  common  people 
in  prosperity,  and  with  the  other  comforting  their  grief  and  dis- 
couragement in  adversity.  Wherein  he  manifestly  proved,  that 
rhetoric  and  eloquence  (as  Plato  saith)  is  an  art  which  quickeneth 
men's  spirits  at  her  pleasure,  and  her  chiefest  skill  is  to  know  how 
to  move  passions  and  affections  throughly,  which  are  as  stops  and 
sounds  of  the  soul,  that  would  be  played  upon  with  a  fine-fingered 
hand  of  a  cunning  master.  All  which,  not  the  force  of  eloquence 
only  brought  to  pass,  as  Thucydides  witnesseth,  but  the  reputation 
of  his  life,  and  the  opinion  and  confidence  they  had  of  his  great 
worthiness,  because  he  would  not  any  way  be  corrupted  with  gifts, 
neither  had  he  any  covetousness  in  him.  For,  when  he  had 
brought  his  city  not  only  to  be  great,  but  exceeding  great  and 
wealthy,  and  had  in  power  and  authority  exceeded  many  kings 
and  tyrants,  yea,  even  those  which  by  their  wills  and  testaments 
might  have  left  great  possessions  to  their  children  ;  he  never  for 
all  that  increased  his  father's  goods  and  patrimony  left  him  the 
value  of  a  groat  in  silver.  And  yet  the  historiographer  Thucy- 
dides doth  set  forth  plainly  enough  the  greatness  of  his  power. 
And  the  comical  poets  also  of  that  time  do  report  it  maliciously 
under  covert  words,  calling  his  familiar  friends  the  new 
Pisiitratidcs,  saying,  how  they  must  make  him  swear  and  protest 


S/A'  THOMAS  NORTH  341 

he  would  never  be  king,  giving  us  thereby  to  understand  that  his 
authority  was  too  exceeding  great  for  a  popular  government.  And 
Teleclides  (amongst  other)  saith,  that  the  Athenians  had  put  into 
his  hands  the  revenue  of  the  towns  and  cities  under  their  obedience, 
and  the  towns  themselves,  to  bind  the  one  and  loose  the  other,  and 
to  pull  down  their  walls,  or  to  build  them  again  at  his  pleasure. 
They  gave  him  power  to  make  peace  and  alliance,  they  gave  all 
their  force,  treasure,  and  authority,  and  all  their  goods  wholly  into 
his  hands.  But  this  was  not  for  a  little  while,  nor  in  a  geere  of 
favour,  that  should  continue  for  a  time,  but  this  held  out  forty 
years  together,  he  being  always  the  chief  of  his  city  amongst  the 
Ephialtes,  the  Leocrates,  the  Mironides,  the  Cimons,  the  Tolmides, 
and  the  Thucydides.  For  after  he  had  prevailed  against  Thucy- 
dides,  and  had  banished  him,  he  yet  remained  chief  above  all 
other,  the  space  of  fifteen  years.  Thus  having  attained  a  regal 
dignity  to  command  all,  which  continued  as  aforesaid,  where  no 
other  captain's  authority  endured  but  one  year :  he  ever  kept 
himself  upright  from  bribes  and  money,  though  otherwise  he  was 
no  ill  husband,  and  could  warily  look  to  his  own.  As  for  his 
lands  and  goods  left  him  by  his  parents,  that  they  miscarried  not 
by  negligence,  nor  that  they  should  trouble  him  much,  in  busying 
himself  to  reduce  them  to  a  value  ;  he  did  so  husband  them  as  he 
thought  was  his  best  and  easiest  way.  For  he  sold  in  gross  ever 
the  whole  year's  profit  and  commodity  of  his  lands,  and  afterwards 
sent  to  the  market  daily  to  buy  the  cates,  and  other  ordinary 
provision  of  household.  This  did  not  like  his  sons  that  were  men 
grown,  neither  were  his  women  contented  with  it,  who  would  have 
had  him  more  liberal  in  his  house  ;  for  they  complained  of  his  over 
hard  and  strait  ordinary,  because  in  so  noble  and  great  a  house 
as  his,  there  was  never  any  great  remain  left  of  meat,  but  all  things 
received  into  the  house,  ran  under  account,  and  were  delivered 
out  by  proportion.  All  this  good  husbandry  of  his  was  kept  up- 
right in  this  good  order,  by  one  Evangelus,  steward  of  his  house, 
a  man  very  honest  and  skilful  in  all  his  household  provision  ;  and 
whether  Pericles  had  brought  him  up  to  it  ;  or  that  he  had  it  by 
nature,  it  was  not  known. 

From  the  Life  of  Pericles. 


342  ENGLISH  PROSE 


VOLUMNIA'S   PLEADING 

Her  answer  ended,  Volumnia  took  her  daughter-in-law,  and 
Martius'  children  with  her,  and  being  accompanied  with  all  the 
other  Roman  ladies,  they  went  in  troop  together  unto  the  Volsces' 
camp  ;  whom  when  they  saw,  they  of  themselves  did  both  pity 
and  reverence  her,  and  there  was  not  a  man  among  them  that 
once  durst  say  a  word  unto  her.  Now  was  Martius  set  then  in 
his  chair  of  state,  with  all  the  honours  of  a  general,  and  when  he 
had  spied  the  woman  coming  afar  off,  he  marvelled  what  the 
matter  meant  :  but  afterwards  knowing  his  wife  which  came  fore- 
most, he  determined  at  the  first  to  persist  in  his  obstinate  and 
inflexible  rancour.  But  overcome  in  the  end  with  natural  affection, 
and  being  altogether  altered  to  see  them,  his  heart  would  not  serve 
him  to  tarry  their  coming  to  his  chair,  but  coming  down  in  haste, 
he  went  to  meet  them,  and  first  he  kissed  his .  mother,  and 
embraced  her  a  pretty  while,  then  his  wife  and  little  children. 
And  nature  so  wrought  with  him,  that  the  tears  fell  from  his  eyes, 
and  he  could  not  keep  himself  from  making  much  of  them,  but 
yielded  to  the  affection  of  his  blood,  as  if  he  had  been  violently 
carried  with  the  fury  of  a  most  swift  running  stream.  After  he 
had  thus  lovingly  received  them,  and  perceiving  that  his  mother 
Volumnia  would  begin  to  speak  to  him,  he  called  the  chiefest  of 
the  council  of  the  Volsces  to  hear  what  she  would  say.  Then  she 
spake  in  this  sort :  "  If  we  held  our  peace  (my  son)  and  determined 
not  to  speak,  the  state  of  our  poor  bodies,  and  present  sight  of  our 
raiment,  would  easily  bewray  to  thee  what  life  we  have  led  at 
home,  since  thy  exile  and  abode  abroad,  but  think  now  with  thy- 
self, how  much  more  unfortunate  than  all  the  women  living,  we 
are  come  hither,  considering  that  the  sight  which  should  be  most 
pleasant  to  all  other  to  behold,  spiteful  fortune  has  made  most 
fearful  to  us  ;  making  myself  to  see  my  son,  and  my  daughter 
here  her  husband,  besieging  the  walls  of  his  native  country  :  so  as 
that  which  is  the  only  comfort  to  all  other  in  their  adversity  and 
misery,  to  pray  unto  the  gods,  and  to  call  to  them  for  aid,  is  the 
only  thing  which  plungeth  us  into  most  deep  perplexity.  For  we 
cannot  (alas)  together  pray,  both  for  victory  to  our  country,  and 
for  safety  of  thy  life  also  :  but  a  world  of  grievous  curses,  yea  more 
than  any  mortal  enemy  can  heap  upon  us,  are  forcibly  wrapt  up 
in  our  prayers.  For  the  bitter  sop  of  most  hard  choice  is  offered 
thy  wife  and  children,  to  forego  one  of  the  two  :  either  to  lose  the 


SIR  THOMAS  NORTH  343 

person  of  thyself,  or  the  nurse  of  their  native  country.  For 
myself  (my  son)  I  am  determined  not  to  tarry  till  fortune  in  my 
lifetime  do  make  an  end  of  this  war.  For  if  I  cannot  persuade 
thee,  rather  to  do  good  unto  both  parties,  than  to  overthrow 
and  destroy  the  one,  preferring  love  and  nature  before  the  malice 
and  calamity  of  wars,  thou  shalt  see,  my  son,  and  trust  unto  it, 
thou  shalt  no  sooner  march  forward  to  assault  thy  country,  but  thy 
foot  shall  tread  upon  thy  mother's  womb,  that  brought  thee  first 
into  this  world.  And  I  may  not  defer  to  see  the  day,  either  that 
my  son  be  led  prisoner  in  triumph  by  his  natural  countrymen,  or 
that  he  himself  do  triumph  of  them,  and  of  his  natural  country. 
For  if  it  were  so,  that  my  request  tended  to  save  thy  country,  in 
destroying  the  Volsces,  I  must  confess,  thou  wouldest  hardly  and 
doubtfully  resolve  on  that.  For  as  to  destroy  thy  natural  country, 
it  is  altogether  unmeet  and  unlawful,  so  were  it  not  just,  and  less 
honourable,  to  betray  those  that  put  their  trust  in  thee.  But  my 
only  demand  consisteth,  to  make  a  gaol-delivery  «f  all  evils,  which 
delivereth  equal  benefit  and  safety,  both  to  the  one  and  the  other, 
but  most  honourable  for  the  Volsces.  For  it  shall  appear,  that 
having  victory  in  their  hands,  they  have  of  special  favour  granted 
us  singular  graces,  peace  and  amity,  albeit  themselves  have  no 
less  part  of  both  than  we.  Of  which  good,  if  so  it  came  to  pass, 
thyself  is  the  only  author,  and  so  hast  thou  the  only  honour.  But 
if  it  fail,  and  fall  out  contrary,  thyself  alone  deservedly  shalt  carry 
the  shameful  reproach  and  burthen  of  either  party.  So,  though 
the  end  of  war  be  uncertain,  yet  this  notwithstanding  is  most  cer- 
tain, that  if  it  be  thy  chance  to  conquer,  this  benefit  shalt  thou  reap 
of  thy  goodly  conquest,  to  be  chronicled  the  plague  and  destroyer 
of  thy  country.  And  if  fortune  overthrow  thee,  then  the  world 
will  say,  that  through  desire  to  revenge  thy  private  injuries,  thou 
hast  for  ever  undone  thy  good  friends,  who  did  most  lovingly  and 
courteously  receive  thee."  Martins  gave  good  care  unto  his 
mother's  words,  without  interrupting  her  speech  at  all,  and  after 
she  had  said  what  she  would,  he  held  his  peace  a  pretty  while,  and 
answered  not  a  word.  Hereupon  she  began  again  to  speak  unto 
him,  and  said  :  "  My  son,  why  doest  thou  not  answer  me  ?  Doest 
thou  think  it  good  altogether  to  give  place  unto  thy  choler  and 
desire  of  revenge,  and  thinkest  thou  it  not  honesty  for  thee  to 
grant  thy  mother's  request,  in  so  weighty  a  cause .''  dost  thou  take 
it  honourable  for  a  nobleman,  to  remember  the  wrongs  and 
injuries  done  him,  and  dost  not  in  like  case  think  it  an  honest 


344  ENGLISH  PROSE 


nobleman's  part,  to  be  thankful  for  the  goodness  that  parents  do 
shew  to  their  children,  acknowledging  the  duty  and  reverence  they 
ought  to  bear  unto  them  ?  No  man  living  is  more  bound  to  shew 
himself  thankful  in  all  parts  and  respects  than  thyself:  who  so 
universally  shewest  all  ingratitude.  Moreover  (my  son)  thou  hast 
sorely  taken  of  thy  country,  exacting  grievous  payments  upon 
them,  in  revenge  of  the  injuries  offered  thee  :  besides,  thou  hast 
not  hitherto  shewed  thy  poor  mother  any  courtesy.  And  therefore 
it  is  not  only  honest,  but  due  unto  me,  that  without  compulsion  I 
should  obtain  my  so  just  and  reasonable  request  of  thee.  But 
since  by  reason  I  cannot  persuade  thee  to  it,  to  what  purpose  do 
I  defer  my  last  hope  ? "  And  with  these  words,  herself,  his  wife 
and  children,  fell  down  upon  their  knees  before  him  :  Martins 
seeing  that,  could  refrain  no  longer,  but  went  straight  and  lift  her 
up,  crying  out,  "  O  mother,  what  have  you  done  to  me  ? "  And 
holding  her  hard  by  the  right  hand,  "  O  mother,"  said  he,  "  You 
have  won  a  hap{)y  victory  for  your  country,  but  mortal  and  un- 
happy for  your  son  :  for  I  see  myself  vanquished  by  you  alone." 
These  words  being  spoken  openly,  he  spake  a  little  apart  with  his 
mother  and  wife,  and  then  let  them  return  again  to  Rome,  for  so 
they  did  request  him  ;  and  so  remaining  in  camp  that  night,  the  next 
morning  he  dislodged,  and  marched  homeward  into  the  Volsces' 
country  again,  who  were  not  all  of  one  mind,  nor  all  alike  con- 
tented. For  some  misliked  him  and  that  he  had  done  :  other 
being  well  pleased  that  peace  should  be  made,  said  :  that  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  deserved  blame  nor  reproach.  Other, 
though  they  misliked  that  was  done,  did  not  think  him  an  ill  man 
for  that  he  did,  but  said,  he  was  not  to  be  blamed,  though  he 
yielded  to  such  a  forcible  extremity.  Howbeit  no  man  contraried 
his  departure,  but  all  obeyed  his  commandment,  more  for  respect 
of  his  worthiness  and  valiancy  than  for  fear  of  his  authority. 
Now  the  citizens  of  Rome  plainly  shewed,  in  what  fear  and  danger 
their  city  stood  of  this  war,  when  they  were  delivered.  For  so 
soon  as  the  watch  upon  the  walls  of  the  city  perceived  the  Volsces' 
camp  to  remove,  there  was  not  a  temple  in  the  city  but  was 
presently  set  open,  and  full  of  men  wearing  garlands  of  flowers 
upon  their  heads,  sacrificing  to  the  gods,  as  they  were  wont  to  do 
upon  the  news  of  some  great  obtained  victory.  And  this  common 
joy  was  yet  more  manifestly  shewed,  by  the  honourable  courtesies 
the  whole  senate  and  people  did  bestow  on  their  ladies.  For  they 
were  all  throughly  persuaded,  and  did  certainly  believe,  that  the 


S/A'   THOMAS  NORTH  345 

ladies  only  were  cause  of  the  saving  of  the  city,  and  deHvering 
themselves  from  the  instant  danger  of  the  war.  Whereupon  the 
senate  ordained  that  the  magistrates,  to  gratify  and  honour  these 
ladies,  should  grant  them  all  that  they  would  require.  And  they 
only  requested  that  they  would  build  a  temple  of  Fortune  for  the 
women,  unto  the  building  whereof  they  offered  themselves  to 
defray  the  whole  charge  of  the  sacrifices,  and  other  ceremonies 
belonging  to  the  service  of  the  gods.  Nevertheless,  the  senate, 
commending  their  goodwill  and  forwardness,  ordained  that  the 
temple  and  image  should  be  made  at  the  common  charge  of  the  city. 

(From  the  Life  of  Coriolanus.) 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  ANTONY 

Sowhen  Antonius  had  determined  to  fight  by  sea,  he  set  all  the  other 
ships  on  fire,  but  threescore  ships  of  Egypt,  and  reserved  only  the 
best  and  greatest  galleys,  from  three  banks  unto  ten  banks  of  oars. 
Into  them  he  put  two  and  twenty  thousand  fighting  men,  with  two 
thousand  darters  and  slingers.  Now  as  he  was  setting  his  men  in 
order  of  battle,  there  was  a  captain,  a  valiant  man,  that  had  served 
Antonius  in  many  battles  and  conflicts,  and  had  all  his  body 
hacked  and  cut  :  who,  as  Antonius  passed  by  him,  cried  out  unto 
him,  and  said  :  O  noble  emperor,  how  cometh  it  to  pass  that  you 
trust  to  these  vile  brittle  ships  ?  What,  do  you  mistrust  these 
wounds  of  mine,  and  this  sword  ?  let  the  Egyptians  and  Phoenicians 
fight  by  sea,  and  set  us  on  the  main  land,  where  we  use  to  conquer, 
or  to  be  slain  on  our  feet.  Antonius  passed  by  him  and  said 
never  a  word,  but  only  beckoned  to  him  with  his  hand  and  head, 
as  though  he  willed  him  to  be  of  good  courage,  although  indeed 
he  had  no  great  courage  himself.  For  when  the  masters  of  the 
galleys  and  pilots  would  have  let  their  sails  alone,  he  made  them 
clap  them  on  ;  saying  to  colour  the  matter  withal,  that  not  one  of 
his  enemies  should  scape.  All  that  day  and  the  three  days 
following,  the  sea  rose  so  high,  and  was  so  boisterous,  that  the 
battle  was  put  off.  The  fifth  day  the  storm  ceased,  and  the  sea 
calmed  again,  and  then  they  rowed  with  force  of  oars  in  battle  one 
against  the  other  :  Antonius  leading  the  right  wing  with  Publicola, 
and  Ccclius  the  left,  and  Marcus  Octavius  and  Marcus  Fusteius 
the  midst.  Octavius  Caesar  on  the  other  side  had  placed  Agrippa 
in  the  left  wing  of  his  army,  and  had  kept  the  right  wing  for  him- 


346  ENGLISH  PROSE 


self.  For  the  armies  by  land,  Canidius  was  General  of  Antonius' 
side,  and  Taurus  of  Caesar's  side  :  who  kept  their  men  in  battle 
array,  the  one  before  the  other,  upon  the  sea  side,  without  stirring 
one  against  the  other.  Further,  touching  both  the  chieftains  : 
Antonius  being  in  a  swift  pinnace,  was  carried  up  and  down  by 
force  of  oars  through  his  army,  and  spake  to  his  people  to 
encourage  them  to  fight  valiantly,  as  if  they  were  on  main  land, 
because  of  the  steadiness  and  heaviness  of  their  ships  :  and  com- 
manded the  pilots  and  masters  of  the  galleys,  that  they  should  not 
stir,  none  otherwise  than  if  they  were  at  anchor,  and  so  to  receive 
the  first  charge  of  their  enemies,  and  that  they  should  not  go  out 
of  the  strait  of  the  gulf.  Ctesar  betimes  in  the  morning  going 
out  of  his  tent,  to  see  his  ships  throughout,  met  a  man  by  chance 
that  drave  an  ass  before  him  :  Caesar  asked  the  man  what  his 
name  was.  The  poor  man  told  him  his  name  was  Eutychus,  to 
say  Fortunate  :  and  his  ass's  name  Nicon,  to  say  Conqueror. 
Therefore  Csesar,  after  he  had  won  the  battle,  setting  out  the 
market  place  with  the  spurs  of  the  galleys  he  had  taken,  for  a 
sign  of  his  victory,  he  caused  also  the  man  and  his  ass  to  be  set 
up  in  brass.  When  he  had  visited  the  order  of  his  army  throughout, 
he  took  a  little  pinnace,  and  went  to  the  right  wing,  and  wondered 
when  he  saw  his  enemies  lie  still  in  the  strait,  and  stirred  not. 
For  discerning  them  afar  off,  men  would  have  thought  they  had 
been  ships  riding  at  anchor  :  and  a  good  while  he  was  so  persuaded. 
So  he  kept  his  galleys  eight  furlongs  from  his  enemies.  About 
noon  there  arose  a  little  gale  of  wind  from  the  sea,  and  then 
Antonius'  men  waxing  angry  with  tarrying  so  long,  and  trusting  to 
the  greatness  and  height  of  their  ships,  as  if  they  had  been 
invincible,  they  began  to  march  forward  with  their  left  wing. 
Ctesar  seeing  that,  was  a  glad  man,  and  began  a  little  to  give  back 
from  the  right  wing,  to  allure  them  to  come  farther  out  of  the 
strait  and  gulf,  to  the  end  that  he  might  with  his  light  ships  well 
manned  with  water-men,  turn  and  environ  the  galleys  of  the 
enemies,  the  which  were  heavy  of  yarage,  both  for  their  bigness, 
as  also  for  lack  of  water-men  to  row  them.  When  the  skirmish 
began,  and  that  they  came  to  join,  there  was  no  great  hurt  at  the 
first  meeting,  neither  did  the  ships  vehemently  hit  one  against  the 
other,  as  they  do  commonly  in  fight  by  sea.  For  on  the  other 
side,  Antonius'  ships  for  their  heaviness  could  not  have  the  strength 
and  swiftness  to  make  their  blows  of  any  force  :  and  Caesars  ships 
on  the  other  side  took  yrcat  heed  not  to  rush  and  shock  with  the 


SIR   THOMAS  NORTH  347 

fore-castles  of  Antonius'  ships,  whose  prows  were  armed  with  great 
brazen  spurs.  Furthermore,  they  durst  not  flank  them,  because 
their  points  were  easily  broken,  which  way  soever  they  came  to 
set  upon  their  ships,  that  were  made  of  great  main  square  pieces 
of  timber,  bound  together  with  great  iron  pins  :  so  that  the  battle 
was  much  like  unto  a  battle  by  land,  or  to  speak  more  properly, 
to  the  assault  of  a  city.  For  there  were  always  three  or  four  of 
Ca^sai^'s  ships  about  one  of  Antonius'  ships,  and  the  soldiers  fought 
with  their  pikes,  halbards,  and  darts,  and  threw  halbards,  and  darts 
with  fire.  Antonius'  ships  on  the  other  side  bestowed  among 
them,  with  their  crossbows  and  engines  of  batter)',  great  store  of 
shot  from  their  high  towers  of  wood  that  were  set  upon  their  ships. 
Now  Publicola  seeing  Agrippa  put  forth  his  left  wing  of  Cfesar's 
army,  to  compass  in  Antonius'  ships  that  fought,  he  was  driven 
also  to  loose  off  to  have  more  room,  and  to  go  a  little  at  one  side, 
to  put  those  farther  off  that  were  afraid,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
battle  :  for  they  were  sore  distressed  by  Arruntius.  Howbeit  the 
battle  was  yet  of  even  hand,  and  the  victory  doubtful,  being 
indifferent  to  both  ;  when  suddenly  they  saw  the  threescore  ships 
of  Cleopatra,  busily  about  their  yard-masts,  and  hoisting  sails  to 
fly.  So  they  fled  through  the  midst  of  them  that  were  in  fight, 
for  they  had  been  placed  behind  the  great  ships,  and  did  marvel- 
lously disorder  the  other  ships.  For  the  enemies  themselves 
wondered  much  to  see  them  sail  in  that  sort,  with  full  sail  towards 
Peloponnesus.  There  Antonius  shewed  plainly,  that  he  had  not 
only  lost  the  courage  and  heart  of  an  emperor,  but  also  of  a 
v'aliant  man  ;  and  that  he  was  not  his  own  man  (proving  that  true 
which  an  old  man  spake  in  mirth,  That  the  soul  of  a  lover  lived 
in  another  body,  and  not  in  his  own)  he  was  so  carried  away  with 
the  vain  love  of  this  woman,  as  if  he  had  been  glued  unto  her, 
and  that  she  could  not  have  removed  without  moving  of  him  also. 
For  when  he  saw  Cleopatra's  ship  under  sail,  he  forgot,  forsook, 
and  betrayed  them  that  fought  for  him,  and  embarqued  upon  a 
galley  with  five  banks  of  oars,  to  follow  her  that  had  already 
begun  to  overthrow  him,  and  would  in  the  end  be  his  destruction. 
When  she  knew  his  galley  afar  off,  she  lift  up  a  sign  in  the  poop 
of  her  ship  ;  and  so  Antonius  coming  to  it,  was  plucked  up  where 
Cleopatra  was  :  howbeit  he  saw  her  not  at  his  first  coming  nor  she 
him,  but  went  and  sat  down  alone  in  the  prow  of  his  ship,  and 
said  never  a  word,  clapping  his  head  between  both  his  hands. 

(From  the  Life  of  Antotiy.) 


PHILEMON   HOLLAND  AND  THE 
CLASSICAL  TRANSLATORS 


[Philemon  Holland  was  born  at  Chelmsford  in  1552.  He  was  educated 
at  Chelmsford  Grammar  School  and  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  of  which 
foundation  he  was  elected  a  major  fellow  in  1574.  He  also  studied  medicine, 
and  proceeded  to  the  degree  of  M.D.  In  1595  he  settled  at  Coventry,  and 
there  he  remained  until  his  death  in  1637.  For  some  years  he  was  an  usher 
at  Coventry  School,  and  for  a  while  headmaster.  He  translated  Livy  (1600), 
Pliny  (1601),  Suetonius  (1606),  Plutarch's  Morals  (1603),  and  Xenophon's 
Cyrupedia  (1632),  by  which  admirable  versions  he  is  best  remembered.  The 
other  translators  are  known  by  their  works.  Thomas  Underdowne  translated 
—  besides  the  Aethiopica  (1587)  —  Ovid,  his  Invective  against  Ibis  into 
"  English  meeter  "  (1569),  and  was  the  author  of  The  Excellent  Historye  of 
Theseus  and  Ariadne.  The  title-page  of  his  Thucydides  (1550)  tells  us  that 
Thomas  NicoUs  was  a  "  citizeine  and  goldsmyth  of  London."  Of  Adlington, 
who  Englished  the  Metamorphoses  of  Lucius  Apuleius,  we  know  no  more  than 
that  he  was  educated  at  University  College,  Oxford,  while  the  translator  of 
Herodotus  hides  even  his  name.  It  seems  to  be  taken  for  granted  that 
the  initials  B.  R.  stand  for  Barnaby  Rich,  but  proof  is  lacking,  and  it  is  not 
a  matter  of  the  first  importance.  .Sir  Henry  Savile — a  friend  of  Ben  Jonson, 
who  dedicated  to  him  a  copy  of  verses — was  the  best  scholar  of  them  all. 
He  took  part  in  the  authorised  translation  of  the  Bible,  Matthew,  The  Acts, 
and  Revelations  falling  to  his  share.  In  1591  he  published  a  translation  of 
the  Histories  of  Tacitus  under  the  title  of  The  End  of  G alba. '\ 

The  last  half  of  the  i6th  century  was  the  golden  age  of  transla- 
tion. Not  a  few  attempts  had  been  made  a  hundred  years  earlier 
to  discover  to  English  readers  some  fragments  at  least  of  classical 
literature.  Will.  Wyrcestre,  alias  Botaner,  for  instance,  translated 
The  Boke  of  Tulle  of  Old  Age  in  148  i,  and  his  was  not  a  solitary 
experiment.  But  the  genuine  enthusiasm  of  the  Renaissance 
did  not  lay  hold  upon  England  until  seventy  years  later,  when 
the  insatiable  curiosity,  which  urged  the  exploration  of  new 
continents,  encouraged  also  the  revived  study  of  Greece  and 
Rome.      In  fifty  years  an  incomparable  series  of  English  versions 

349 


3S0  ENCf.ISH  PROSE 


was  produced,  and  a  wealth  of  literature  revealed  to  the  un- 
initiated. The  translators  approached  their  task  with  character- 
istic recklessness.  They  endured  no  probationary  period  of 
scholarship.  They  had  as  little  Greek  as  their  readers,  and 
not  much  more  Latin.  Amyot  and  the  French  were  their  most 
direct  and  potent  inspiration,  and  as  these  did  not  disdain  the 
help  of  the  Latin  cribs,  which  had  been  made  in  Italy,  not 
a  few  of  the  English  translations  were  removed  by  more  than 
one  stage  from  their  originals.  Thomas  Nicolls,  goldsmith  of 
London,  "  turned "  Thucydides  from  the  French  of  Claude  de 
Seyssel,  Bishop  of  Marseilles,  who  himself  did  but  know  the 
history  in  its  Latin  dress.  And  yet  the  version  of  Thomas 
Hobbes,  who  proudly  records  on  the  title-page  that  his  author 
was  "  interpreted  with  Faith  and  Diligence  immediately  out  of 
the  Greek,"  is  dry  and  insipid  when  compared  to  the  less 
scholarly  and  ruggeder  translation  of  the  modest  goldsmith. 
Some,  indeed,  of  the  translators  went  sadly  astray.  Even  the 
example  of  Amyot  was  not  always  sufficient  for  success,  and  one 
Angell  Day  succeeded  in  converting  DapJmis  a?id  Chloe  from 
Amyot's  pellucid  French  into  as  tiresome  and  turgid  a  piece  of 
affectation  as  the  language  will  supply.  But  the  most  had  so 
noble  a  sense  of  the  picturesque,  and  so  fertile  a  diction,  that  one 
does  not  regret  for  an  instant  their  lack  of  scholarship. 

This  brilliant  efflorescence  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  it 
was  due  not  to  the  genius  of  distinguished  writers,  but  to  the 
talent  of  marvellously-gifted  hacks.  Then,  as  now,  the  work  of 
translation  was  commonly  performed  by  men  who  added  nought 
to  their  country's  literature.  But  while  to-day  the  average 
version  is  the  cheapest  journey-work,  there  are  few  of  the 
Tudor  translations  which  are  not  vigorous,  eloquent,  and  dis- 
tinguished. Even  the  best  are  marred  'by  faults,  and  by  one 
so  grave  that  admiration  cannot  overlook  it.  The  attempt  is 
rarely  made  to  represent  the  style  of  the  original.  How  should 
it  be  when  the  Greek  or  Latin  phrase  was  filtered  into  English 
through  the  French  ?  Exceptions  there  are.  Sir  Henry  Savile, 
for  instance,  was  a  scholar  gifted  with  an  understanding  of 
Tacitus  and  his  diction.  Now  and  again  he  presents  the  idiom 
and  conciseness  of  his  author  even  to  the  prejudice  of  his  own 
style.  The  passage  which  here  follows  is  an  echo  at  least 
of  the  Tacitean  brevity  and  construction  :  "  A  worke  I  take  here 
in  hande   containing   sundry  changes,    bloudie   battailes,  violent 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSICAL   TRANSLATORS      351 


mutinees,  peace  full  of  cruelty  and  perill  :  foure  Emperors  slaine 
with  sword,  three  civil  warres,  foraine  many  mo,  and  oft  both  at 
once :  good  success  in  the  East,  bad  in  the  West :  Illyricum 
troubled ;  the  countries  of  Gallia  wavering :  Brittanny  al  con- 
quered, not  al  retained  :  invasions  of  the  Sarmatian  and  Suevian 
nation  :  the  Dacian  giving  and  taking  notable  overthrowes  :  the 
Parthians  also  almost  in  armes,  abused  by  a  counterfayt  Nero." 
This  is  clumsy  enough,  yet  it  adheres  closely  to  the  original,  and 
how  shall  the  telegraphic  sentences  be  more  elegantly  interpreted  ? 
But  Tacitus,  being  a  decadent,  refused  to  suit  himself  with  the 
youthful  vigour  of  Elizabethan  prose,  so  that  Sir  Henry  Savile's 
scholarship  does  not  long  prevail  against  the  spirit  of  his  own 
language.  And  where  he  was  not  successful,  the  rest  were  certain 
of  failure.  In  truth,  when  we  approach  the  translations  of  the  1 6th 
century,  we  had  better  forget  our  classics.  "  A  translator,"  said 
Dr.  Johnson,  "  is  to  exhibit  his  author's  thoughts  in  such  a  dress 
of  diction  as  the  author  would  have  given  them  had  his  language 
been  English."  Tried  by  this  severe  standard,  Holland,  Adling- 
ton,  Underdowne,  fail  miserably,  one  and  all.  But  it  were  an 
injustice  to  their  achievement  to  demand  accuracy.  Like  North, 
they  were  writers  rather  than  scholars.  Their  practice  was  to 
neglect  their  original,  and  to  aim  at  a  fresh  composition  which 
should  recall  the  substance,  if  not  the  quality,  of  the  Greek  or 
Latin.  Though  the  versions  thus  differ  from  the  works,  which 
are  their  excuse,  they  are^bound  together  by  marked  resemblances. 
A  uniform  convention  directs  their  style.  Energy  of  expression, 
colour  and  variety  of  phrase,  invention  and  redundancy  charac- 
terise them  all.  As  they  are  guilty  of  the  same  vices,  so  they 
share  the  same  virtues,  and  to  consider  their  merits,  we  need  not 
separate  them  one  from  another. 

The  language  handled  by  the  translators  with  so  keen  an  en- 
thusiasm was  young  and  full-blooded  and  still  in  a  state  of  revolu- 
tion. Words  and  phrases  were  fighting  hard  for  their  life,  and  too 
many  lost  it.  "  Many  travise  and  dance  minionly,"  writes  B.  R., 
translator  of  Herodotus  ;  while  Philemon  Holland  in  his  passage  of 
the  Alps  talks  of  the  "  slabberie  snow-broth,"  and  sets  the  Romans 
down  as  "  poor  garrons."  Slang  clamoured  for  admittance  into  the 
written  language,  and  it  is  our  misfortune  that  later  writers  denied 
what  Holland  and  his  colleagues  so  readily  granted.  B.  R.  is  a 
lover  of  common  words  even  above  his  fellows.  Thus  he  renders 
a  simple  passage  concerning  the  writing  of  the  Egyptians  :   "  The 


352  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Aegyptians  contrarywise  proceede  from  the  right  to  the  left, 
wherein  also  they  frump  and  gird  at  the  Graecians."  And  there 
is  an  admirable  homeliness  in  the  sentence  :  "  Protheus  turned 
hymselfe  to  Alexander  and  tucked  hym  up  with  thys  rounde  talk." 
The  result  of  this  freedom  was  a  marvellous  vividness  and  strength, 
marred,  it  is  true,  by  an  uncouth  and  awkward  prolixity.  But  the 
style  is  tempered  to  the  softer  passion '  of  love,  and  passages  in 
Adlington's  Golden  Asse  and  Underdowne's  Aethiopian  Historic 
are  masterpieces  of  dainty  narrative.  In  another  respect  English 
is  in  a  state  of  flux.  Prefix  and  suffix  vary  and  are  changed. 
"Mockery"  has  not  entirely  ousted  "mockage."  Sometimes 
"  praecel "  is  found  ;  at  others  the  more  familiar  "  excel " ;  and 
though  the  points  of  difference  are  small,  they  are  sufficient  to 
stamp  a  marked  character  upon  the  style.  Then,  again,  the 
language  was  enriched,  especially  by  Holland,  with  countless 
borrowings  from  French  or  Latin.  "  The  mures  and  counter- 
fabrickes  of  the  city;"  "our  forces  to  be  cassed  and  discharged 
from  service  ;"  by  such  phrases  are  the  pages  of  Livy  distinguished. 
And  thus  a  plumpness  and  dignity  are  imparted  to  English  prose 
— qualities  which  (with  their  defects)  the  niceness  and  common 
sense  of  a  later  age  purged  away.  Above  all,  the  prose  is 
rhythmical  and  well  fashioned  to  the  ear,  and  each  after  his  kind 
has  the  gift  of  telling  a  story  with  point  and  direction.  Thus  does 
Holland  sum  up  the  character  of  Hannibal  :  "  Most  forward  he 
was  and  hardie  to  all  hazards  and  dangerous  adventures  :  right 
provident  and  warie  againe,  at  the  verie  point  of  perill  and 
jeopardie.  No  travaile  was  able  to  wearie  and  tire  his  bodie  ; 
no  painestaking  could  daunt  and  breake  his  hearte."  In  the  few 
lines  that  follow  there  is  a  rare  touch  of  picturesqueness  :  "  They 
crossed  the  rockes  overthwart,  and  (as  they  were  accustomed  and 
used  to  them)  ran  to  and  fro,  up  and  down  through  the  blind  and 
unhaunted  bywaies."  If  direct  simplicity  be  to  your  taste,  where 
shall  you  match  the  conference  between  Protheus  and  Alexander, 
as  set  forth  by  B.  R.  ?  "  Beeing  arrived  at  the  Court,  the  king 
asked  Alexander  in  these  words  :  Yong  gentleman,  what  are 
you,  and  from  what  countrey  are  you  landed  heere  in  Aegypfi 
Alexander,  who  was  not  to  seeke  of  an  aunswere,  with  a  comely 
grace  made  aunswere  to  the  King,  descrying  both  his  countrey 
and  lynage,  the  place  also  from  whence  hee  was  arrived,  and  to 
what  coastes  he  directed  his  course.  And  where  then  (quoth  the 
King)  had  you  this  goodly  gentlewoman,  for  she  seemeth  to  be 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSICAL   TRANSLATORS     353 

a  woman  of  no  common  bloud  :  whereat  my  youth  somewhat 
mammering  before  he  coulde  cast  the  plot  of  his  excuse,  was 
betrayed  by  his  servaunts,  who  in  humble  manner  on  their  knees, 
deciphered  to  the  king  the  whole  discourse  of  his  treason."  In 
prose  such  as  this  there  is  a  robust  delight  which  a  more  accurate 
and  better  handled  style  will  not  always  afford,  and  there  is  scarce 
a  translation  but  will  yield  passages  of  like  quality  on  every  page. 
Though  the  convention  is  invariable,  differences  there  are  of  energy 
and  tone.  Philemon  Holland  is  the  greatest  of  the  group.  In 
strength  and  variety  none  other  is  comparable  to  him.  Not  only 
is  his  grip  of  the  language  firmer,  but  his  key  of  expression  is 
larger,  his  ear  far  truer  for  suiting  sound  to  sense.  Sir  Henry 
Savile  is  chastened  and  restrained,  as  befits  a  scholar.  B.  R., 
the  nameless  translator  of  Herodotus,  joins  to  a  light  hand  a 
pretty  taste  for  those  outcasts  of  speech  which  are  slang,  while 
William  Adlington  displays  a  feeling  for  elegance  which  others 
lack.  But  the  work  of  all  is  good  to  read,  and  their  faults  are 
the  faults  of  great  men. 

Charles  Whibley, 


VOL.  i 


MARCELLUS  AND  HANNIBAL  AT  NOLA 

This  emparle  put  Hannibal  clean  besides  all  hope  of  gaining 
Nola  by  treason.  Therefore  he  beleaguered  the  town  on  every 
side,  and  invested  it  round  about  like  a  garland,  to  the  end,  that 
in  one  instant  he  might  give  the  assault  on  eveiy  part  of  the  walls. 
When  Marcellus  saw  him  under  the  walls,  he  set  his  people  first 
in  battle  array  within  the  gate,  and  then  with  a  great  noise  and 
tumult  he  suddenly  sallied  out.  At  their  first  set  and  onset, 
divers  of  the  enemies  were  beaten  down  and  slain  ;  but  after  that, 
they  ran  from  all  parts  to  battle,  and  were  come  together  with 
equal  forces  ;  the  fight  began  to  be  hot  and  sharp,  and  a  memor- 
able conflict  it  had  been,  and  few  like  it,  but  that  it  rained  and 
poured  down  so  fast,  and  with  so  many  storms  and  tempests,  that 
it  parted  both  the  battles,  and  stayed  the  fight.  So  for  that  day, 
having  with  that  small  skirmish  kindled  their  courages,  and  set 
their  blood  in  heat,  they  retired  back,  the  Romans  within  the 
city,  and  the  Carthaginians  to  their  camp.  Howbeit,  of  the 
Carthaginians  there  were  slain,  upon  the  first  sally  and  charge 
given,  not  above  thirty,  and  of  the  Romans  not  one  man.  This 
tempestuous  shower  of  rain  lasted  all  night  long,  and  continued 
still,  and  never  gave  over  until  nine  of  the  clock  before  noon  the 
next  day.  And  therefore,  albeit  they  were  sharp  set,  and  their 
fingers  itched  on  both  sides  to  be  a  fighting,  yet  for  that  day  they 
kept  within  their  hold  and  strength.  So  the  third  day  Hannibal 
sent  out  certain  companies  into  the  territory  about  Nola,  for  to 
forray  and  fetch  in  booties  :  which,  so  soon  as  Marcellus  under- 
stood, he  presently  set  his  men  in  array,  and  entered  the  field, 
neither  was  Hannibal  for  his  part  behind.  Now  there  was  a  mile 
distance,  or  very  near,  between  the  city  and  the  enemy's  camp. 
In  this  space  between  (for  all  about  Nola  is  plain  and  champian) 
they  encountered  and  joined  battle.  The  shout  that  they  set  up 
on  both  sides,  reclaimed   and  caused   to   return    unto   the  fight 

354 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSICAL   TRANSLATORS      355 

already  begun,  the  nearest  of  those  cohorts  and  bands,  which 
were  gone  a-foraging  into  the  country.  The  men  of  Nola  Hkewise 
came  unto  the  Romans,  and  mended  their  battle  :  whom  Marcellus 
commended  for  their  forwardness,  and  gave  them  in  charge  to 
abide  in  the  rearward,  to  help  as  occasion  served,  and  to  carry 
forth  of  the  skirmish  those  that  were  hurt  and  wounded,  and  to 
forbear  fight  in  any  case,  unless  they  had  a  signal  and  token  given 
them  by  him.  The  fight  was  doubtful,  for  both  the  generals  gave 
encouragement  efifectually,  and  also  the  soldiers  did  their  best, 
and  fought  right  manfully.  Marcellus  was  earnest  with  his  men 
to  press  hard  and  charge  still  upon  their  enemies,  whom  they 
had  defeated  not  three  days  ago,  who  not  many  days  past  were 
put  to  flight,  and  driven  from  Cumas,  and  who  the  year  before 
were  beaten  from  Nola,  under  his  conduct,  by  other  soldiers, 
saying.  That  they  were  not  all  there  in  the  field,  but  many  of  them 
gone  ranging  abroad  into  the  country,  for  to  hale  booties  and  get 
prizes.  As  for  them  that  fought,  they  were  such  as  were  decayed 
with  rioting  and  following  their  delights  in  Capua,  such  as  with 
wine-bibbing  in  every  tavern,  all  the  whole  winter,  were  become 
enfeebled  in  body,  spent,  and  wasted  utterly.  As  for  that  lively 
strength  and  vigour  of  theirs,  it  was  clean  gone  :  those  able  and 
lusty  bodies  were  decayed,  those  courageous  hearts  abated, 
wherewith  they  passed  over  the  Pyrennean  mountains,  and  the 
high  cliffs  of  the  Alps.  There  remained  now  nothing  but  the 
relics  and  shadow  of  those  men  to  fight,  who  are  scarce  able  to 
bear  their  very  armour,  to  lift  up  their  arms,  and  carry  their  own 
bodies.  Adding  withal,  that  Capua  was  another  Cannas  unto 
Hannibal  :  there  died  his  warlike  prowess,  there  lost  he  his 
militare  discipline  ;  there  was  the  glorious  fame  of  former  days 
buried  ;  there  the  hope  of  future  time  for  ever  suppressed  and 
stifled.  As  Marcellus  by  reproving  these  and  such  like  things  in 
his  enemies,  animated  his  own  soldiers  :  so  Hannibal  rebuked  his 
men  with  more  sharp  words  and  bitter  checks.  I  know  these  to 
be  (quoth  he)  the  same  arms  and  weapons,  the  very  same  engines 
and  standards,  which  I  saw  and  had  at  Trebia,  at  Thrasymenus, 
and  last  of  all  at  Cannae.  But  surely,  methinks,  when  I  went  to 
Capua,  there  to  winter,  I  carried  with  me  thither,  other  manner 
of  soldiers  than  I  have  brought  again  from  thence.  Have  ye 
indeed  so  much  ado  to  maintain  fight  with  a  Roman  lieutenant, 
leader  of  one  only  legion  and  cornet  ;  wliom  heretofore  two  full 
Consular  armies  were   never  able  to   abide  in  the   field  ?     Shall 


356  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Marcellus  with  young  and  raw  soldiers  of  his  own,  seconded  only 
with  the  aid  of  the  Nolanes,  challenge  and  bid  us  battle  the 
second  time  ?  Where  is  that  soldier  of  mine,  that  unhorsed  C. 
Flaminius  the  Consul,  and  stracke  off  his  head  ?  What  is  become 
of  him  that  at  Cannas  slew  L.  Paulus  ?  What  ?  Is  the  edge  of 
your  sword  dull,  and  the  point  blunt  ?  Or  are  your  right  hands 
asleep  and  benumbed  ?  Or  what  strange  and  wonderful  accident 
is  befallen  you  ?  Ye  that  were  wont,  being  few  in  number,  to 
vanquish  many,  are  ye  now,  bemg  many  in  number,  hardly  able 
to  withstand  and  abide  the  violence  of  a  few  ?  Ye  spake  big, 
and  gave  out  great  brags  and  proud  words,  that  if  any  man  would 
lead  you,  you  would  win  Rome,  that  you  would.  Behold  now, 
a  smaller  piece  of  service.  Here  I  would  have  you  prove  your 
strength,  and  make  trial  of  your  valour.  Let  us  see  now,  win  me 
Nola,  a  city  situate  in  the  champian,  on  a  plain,  defended  neither 
with  sea  nor  river.  O,  out  of  this  so  wealthy  a  city,  will  I  be 
ready  either  to  lead  you,  laden  with  rich  pillage  and  spoil, 
whithersoever  ye  will,  or  follow  you,  wheresoever  ye  would  have 
me.  But  nothing  availed  either  his  cheerful  words,  or  his  check- 
ing rebukes,  to  encourage  and  confirm  their  hearts. 

(From  the  Roma/ie  His  forte  written  by  T.  Livius  of 
Padua.  Translated  out  of  Latin  into  English  by 
Philemon  Holland,  Doctor  in  Pkysicke.) 


GRIEF  AND   SUDDEN  JOY 

But  after  they  had  gone  a  little  way,  Cnemon  suddenly  cried  out, 
O  Jupiter,  what  meaneth  this  ?  We  are  undone  :  Cariclia  is 
slain.  And  therewith  he  cast  his  light  to  the  ground,  and  put  it 
out,  and  holding  his  hands  before  his  face,  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
lamented.  But  Theagenes  as  though  by  violence  one  had  thrust 
him  down,  fell  on  the  dead  body,  and  held  the  same  in  his  arms 
a  great  while  without  moving.  Cnemon  therefore  perceiving  that 
he  was  utterly  overcome  with  sorrow,  and  fearing  lest  he  should 
do  him  some  harm,  took  his  sword  out  of  his  scabbard,  and  ran 
out  to  light  his  link  again.  In  the  meantime,  Theagenes 
tragically,  and  with  much  sorrow  lamented  :  and  oh,  grief  intoler- 
able, oh  manifold  mischiefs,  sent  from  the  gods,  said  he,  What 
insatiable  fury  so  much  rageth  still  to  have  us  destroyed  ?     Who 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSICAL  TRANSLATORS      357 

hath  banished  us  out  of  our  country,  cast  us  to  dangers  by  seas, 
perils  by  pirates,  and  hath  often  dehvered  us  into  the  hands  of 
robbers,  and  spoiled  us  of  all  our  treasures  ?  Only  one  comfort 
we  had,  which  is  now  taken  from  us,  Cariclia  is  dead,  and  by 
enemy's  hand  (my  only  joy)  is  slain  :  while  she  no  doubt  defended 
her  chastity,  and  reserved  herself  unto  me,  she  unhappy  creature 
is  dead,  and  neither  had  she  by  her  beauty  arjy  pleasure,  neither 
any  commodity.  But  oh  my  sweet  heart,  speak  to  me  lastly,  as 
thou  wert  wont  to  do,  and  if  there  be  any  life  in  thee,  command 
me  to  do  somewhat.  Alas  thou  dost  hold  thy  peace,  that  godly 
mouth  of  thine,  out  of  the  which  proceeded  so  heavenly  talk,  is 
stopped :  darkness  hath  possessed  her  who  bare  the  star  of 
beauty  :  and  the  last  end  of  all  hath  now  gotten  the  best  minister 
that  belonged  to  any  temple  of  the  gods.  These  eyes  of  thine, 
that  with  passing  fairness  looked  upon  all  men,  are  now  without 
sight,  which  he,  who  killed  thee,  saw  not,  I  am  sure.  But  by 
what  name  shall  I  call  thee .-'  my  spouse  ?  thou  wert  never 
espoused.  My  wife  ?  thou  wert  not  married,  what  shall  I  there^ 
fore  call  thee  ?  or  how  shall  I  lastly  speak  unto  thee,  shall  I  call 
thee  by  the  most  delectable  name  of  all  names,  Cariclia  ?  O 
Caricha  hear  me,  thou  hast  a  faithful  lover,  and  shalt  ere  it  be 
long,  recover  me,  for  I  will  out  of  hand,  with  mine  own  death 
perform  a  deadly  sacrifice  to  thee,  and  with  mine  own  blood  will 
I  offer  a  friendly  offering  unto  thee,  and  this  rude  den  shall  be  a 
sepulchre  for  us  both.  It  shall  be  lawful  for  us,  after  death,  to 
enjoy  either  other,  which  while  we  lived,  the  gods  would  not 
grant.  As  soon  as  he  had  spoken  thus,  he  set  his  hand,  as 
though  he  would  have  drawn  out  his  sword,  which  when  he  found 
not,  O  Cnemon  said  he,  how  hast  thou  hurt  me,  and  especially 
injured  Cariclia,  deprived  now  again  of  most  delectable  company: 
while  he  spake  thus,  through  the  hollow  holes  of  the  cave,  there 
was  a  voice  heard,  that  called  Theagenes.  He  heard  it  well,  and 
was  nothing  afraid,  and  O  sweet  soul,  pardon  me,  said  he  :  by 
this  it  manifestly  appeareth,  that  thou  art  yet  above  the  earth, 
partly  for  that  with  violence  expulsed  out  of  such  a  body,  thou 
canst  not  depart  without  grief,  partly  for  that,  not  yet  buried,  thou 
art  chased  away  of  infernal  spirits.  And  when  Cnemon  came  in 
with  a  light  in  his  hand  the  same  voice  was  heard  again,  calling 
Theagenes.  O  gods,  said  Cnemon,  is  not  this  Cariclia's  voice  ? 
Surely  Theagenes,  I  think  that  she  is  yet  saved.  Wilt  thou  not 
yet  leave,   said   Theagenes,   so    oft  to   deceive  and  beguile  me  ? 


358  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Indeed,  said  Cnemon,  I  deceive  you,  and  am  myself  deceived,  if 
this  be  not  Cariclia  that  lieth  here.  And  therewithal,  he  straight- 
way turned  her  face  upward,  which,  as  soon  as  he  saw,  you  gods, 
said  he,  which  be  the  authors  of  all  wonders,  what  stranye  sight  is 
this  ?  I  see  here  Thisbe's  face,  and  therewith  he  leapt  back,  and 
without  moving  any  whit,  stood  quaking  in  a  great  admiration. 
Therewithal  Theagenes  came  somewhat  to  himself,  and  began  to 
conceive  some  better  hope  in  his  mind,  and  comforted  Cnemon, 
whose  heart  now  failed  him,  and  desired  him  in  all  haste  to  carry 
him  to  Cariclia.  A  while  after,  when  Cnemon  came  somewhat 
to  himself  again,  he  looked  more  advisedly  on  her :  it  was  Thisbe 
indeed,  and  he  knew  also  the  sword  that  lay  by  her,  by  the  hilts 
to  be  Thyamis  his,  which  he  for  anger,  and  haste  left  in  the 
wound.  Last  of  all,  he  saw  a  little  scroll  hang  at  her  breast, 
which  he  took  away,  and  would  fain  have  read  it,  but  Theagenes 
would  not  let  him,  but  lay  on  him  very  earnestly,  saying,  let  us 
first  receive  my  sweet  heart,'  lest  even  now  as  some  god  beguile 
us  :  as  for  these  things,  we  may  know  them  hereafter.  Cnemon 
was  content,  and  so  taking  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  the  sword 
also,  went  in  to  Cariclia,  who  creeping  both  on  hands  and  feet  to 
the  light,  ran  to  Theagenes,  and  hanged  about  his  neck.  Now 
Theagenes,  thou  art  restored  to  me  again,  said  she.  Thou 
livest,  mine  own  Cariclia,  quoth  he,  oftentimes.  At  length  they 
fell  suddenly  to  the  ground,  holding  either  other  in  their  arms, 
without  uttering  any  word,  except  a  little  murmuring,  and  it 
lacked  but  a  little,  that  they  were  not  both  dead.  For,  many 
times  too  much  gladness  is  turned  to  sorrow,  and  immoderate 
pleasure  hath  engendered  grief,  whereof  ourselves  are  the  causes. 
As  also  these,  preserved  contrary  to  their  hope  and  opinion,  were 
in  peril,  until  Cnemon  taking  a  little  water  in  his  hands  sprinkled 
it  on  their  faces,  and  rubbing  their  nostrils  caused  them  to  come 
to  themselves  again. 

(F'^om  An  /EtJiiopian  Historic  written  in  Greek  by  Helio- 
dorus  :  Englished  by  Thomas  Undcrdoiune.) 


THE   METAMORPHOSLS   OF   LUCIUS  APULEIUS 

After   that    I    had   well    rubbed  every  part   and   member  of  my 
body,  I    hovered  with  mine  arms,  and  moved  myself,  looking   still 


HOLLAND  AND   THE  CLASSICAL   TRANSLATORS     359 

when  I  should  be  changed  into  a  bird  as  Pamphile  was,  and  be- 
hold neither  feathers  nor  appearance  of  feathers  did  burgen  out, 
but  verily  my  hair  did  turn  into  ruggedness,  and  my  tender  skin 
waxed  tough  and  hard,  my  fingers  and  toes,  lesing  the  number  of 
five,  changed  into  hoofs,  and  out  of  me  grew  a  great  tail,  now  my 
face  became  monstruous,  my  nosethrilles  wide,  my  lips  hanging 
down,  and  mine  ears  rugged  with  hair  :  neither  could  I  see  any 
comfort  of  my  transformation,  for  my  members  increased  likewise, 
and  so  without  all  help  (viewing  every  part  of  my  poor  body)  I 
perceived  that  I  was  no  bird,  but  a  pliin  ass.  Then  I  thought  to 
blame  Fotis,  but  being  deprived  as  well  of  language  as  human 
shape,  I  looked  upon  her  with  my  hanging  lips  and  watery  eyes, 
who  (as  soon  as  she  espied  me  in  such  sort)  cried  out,  alas  poor 
wretch  that  I  am,  I  am  utterly  cast  away.  The  fear  that  I  was 
in,  and  my  haste  hath  beguiled  me,  but  especially  the  mistaking 
of  the  box  hath  deceived  me.  But  it  forceth  not  much,  since  as 
a  sooner  medicine  may  be  gotten  for  this,  than  for  any  other 
thing.  For  if  thou  couldest  get  a  rose  and  eat  it,  thou  shouldest 
be  delivered  from  the  shape  of  an  ass,  and  become  my  Lucius 
again.  And  would  to  God  I  had  gathered  some  garlands  this 
evening  past  according  to  my  custom,  then  thou  shouldest  not 
continue  an  ass  one  night's  space,  but  in  the  morning  I  will  seek 
some  remedy.  Thus  Fotis  lamented  in  pitiful  sort,  but  I  that  was 
now  a  perfect  ass,  and  for  Lucius  a  brute  beast,  did  yet  retain  the 
sense  and  understanding  of  a  man.  And  did  devise  a  good  space 
with  myself,  whether  it  were  best  for  me  to  tear  this  mischievous 
and  wicked  harlot  with  my  mouth,  or  to  kick  and  kill  her  with 
my  heels.  But  a  better  thought  reduced  me  from  so  rash  a  pur- 
pose, for  I  feared  lest  by  the  death  of  Fotis  I  should  be  deprived 
of  all  remedy  and  help.  Then  shaking  my  head  and  dissimuling 
mine  ire,  and  taking  mine  adversity  in  good  part,  I  went  into  the 
stable  to  mine  own  horse,  where  I  found  another  ass  of  Pilo's, 
sometime  mine  host,  and  I  did  verily  think  that  mine  own  horse 
(if  there  were  any  natural  conscience  or  knowledge  in  brute 
beasts)  would  take  pity  upon  me,  and  proffer  me  lodging  for  that 
night,  but  it  chanced  far  otherwise.  For  see,  my  horse  and  the 
ass,  as  it  were,  consented  together  to  work  my  harm,  and  fearing 
lest  I  should  eat  up  their  provender,  would  in  no  wise  suffer  me 
to  come  nigh  the  manger,  but  kicked  me  with  their  heels  from 
their  meat,  which  I  myself  gave  them  the  night  before.  Then  I, 
being  thus  handled   by  them  and   driven  away,  got   me  into  a 


36o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


corner  of  the  stable,  where  (while  I  remembered  their  uncourtesy, 
and  how  on  the  morrow  I  should  return  to  Lucius  by  the  help  of 
a  rose,  when  as  I  thought  to  revenge  myself  of  mine  own  horse) 
I  fortuned  to  espy  in  the  middle  of  a  pillar  sustaining  the  rafters 
of  the  stable,  the  image  of  the  goddess  Hippone,  which  was 
garnished  and  decked  round  about  with  fair  fresh  roses.  Then 
in  hope  of  a  present  remedy  I  leaped  up  with  my  fore  feet  as  high 
as  I  could,  and  stretching  out  my  neck,  and  with  my  lips  coveted 
to  snatch  some  roses.  But  in  an  evil  hour  did  I  go  about  that 
enterprise,  for  behold,  the  boy  to  whom  I  gave  charge  of  my 
horse  came  presently  in,  and  finding  me  climbing  upon  the  pillar, 
ran  towards  me,  and  said  :  How  long  shall  we  suffer  this  vile  ass, 
that  doth  not  only  eat  up  his  fellows'  meat,  but  also  would  spoil 
the  images  of  the  goddess  :  why  do  I  not  kill  this  lame  thief,  and 
weak  wretch  ?  and  therewithal  looking  about  for  some  kidgel,  he 
espied  where  lay  a  faggot  of  wood,  and  choosing  out  a  crabbed 
truncheon  of  the  biggest  he  could  find,  did  never  cease  beating  of 
me,  poor  wretch,  until  such  time  as,  by  great  noise  and  rumbling, 
he  heard  the  doors  of  the  house  burst  open,  and  the  neighbours 
crying  in  lamentable  sort,  which  enforced  him  (being  stroken  in 
fear)  to  fly  his  way.  And  by  and  by  a  troop  of  thieves  entered 
in,  and  kept  every  part  and  corner  of  the  house  with  weapons. 
And  as  men  resorted  to  aid  and  help  them  which  were  within  the 
doors,  the  thieves  resisted  and  kept  them  back,  for  every  man 
was  armed  with  his  sword  and  target  in  his  hand,  the  glimpses 
whereof  did  yield  out  such  light  as  if  it  had  been  day.  Then 
they  brake  open  a  great  chest  with  double  locks  and  bolts  where- 
in was  laid  all  the  treasure  of  Pilo,  and  ransacked  the  same, 
which  when  they  had  done  they  packed  it  up,  and  gave  every  one 
a  portion  to  carry,  but  when  they  had  more  than  they  could  bear 
away,  yet  were  they  loth  to  leave  any  behind  ;  they  came  into  the 
stable,  and  took  us  two  poor  asses,  and  my  horse,  and  laded  us 
with  greater  trusses  than  we  were  able  to  bear.  And  when  we 
were  out  of  the  house,  they  followed  us  with  great  staves,  and 
willed  one  of  their  fellows  to  tarry  behind  and  bring  them  tidings 
what  was  done  concerning  the  robbery,  and  so  they  beat  us  for- 
ward over  great  hills  out  of  the  high  way.  But  I,  what  with  my 
heavy  burthen,  and  my  long  journey  did  nothing  differ  from  a 
dead  ass,  wherefore  I  determined  with  myself  to  seek  some  civil 
remedy,  and  by  invocation  of  the  name  of  the  Prince  of  the 
country,  to  be  delivered   from  so  many  miseries.      And   in  a  time 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSLCAL   TRANSLATORS     361 


as  I  passed  through  a  great  fair,  I  came  amongst  a  multitude  of 
Greeks,  and  I  thought  to  call  upon  the  renowned  name  of  the 
Emperor,  and  to  say  :  O  Cai^sar,  and  I  cried  out  aloud,  O,  but 
Cc-Esar  I  could  in  no  wise  pronounce  ;  the  thieves,  little  regarding 
my  crying,  did  lay  me  on,  and  beat  my  wretched  skin  in  such 
sort,  that  after  it  was  neither  apt  nor  meet  to  make  sives  or 
sarces.  Howbcit  at  last  Jupiter  ministered  unto  me  an  unhoped 
remedy.  For  when  we  had  passed  through  many  towns  and 
villages,  I  fortuned  to  espy  a  pleasant  garden,  wherein,  besides 
many  other  flowers  of  delectable  hue,  were  new  and  fresh  roses, 
and  (being  very  joyful  and  desirous  to  catch  some  as  I  passed  by) 
I  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  while  my  lips  watered  upon  them, 
I  thought  of  a  better  advice,  more  profitable  for  me  :  lest  if  from 
an  ass  I  should  become  a  man,  I  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
thieves,  and  either  by  suspicion  that  I  were  some  witch,  or  for 
fear  that  I  would  utter  their  theft,  I  should  be  slain,  wherefore  I 
abstained  for  that  time  from  eating  of  roses.  And  (enduring  my 
present  adversity)  I  eat  hay  as  other  asses  did. 

(From  The  XI  Bookes  of  the  Golden  Ass,  translated  out 
of  Latin  into  English  by  William  Adlington.) 


THE  END   OF  CYRUS 

Cyrus  having  gained  the  other  side  of  Ara.xes,  and  marched 
forward  one  day's  journey,  forthwith  he  did  as  Croesus  had 
counselled  him,  leaving  in  his  tents  the  feeblest  and  most  unapt 
soldiers  of  his  whole  number,  and  departed  thence  with  the  rest 
to  the  shores  and  banks  of  Araxes,  being  lightly  harnessed  and 
addressed  for  the  purpose.  The  seely  remnant  of  the  Persians 
appointed  to  stay  behind  in  defence  and  munition  of  the  tents, 
were  assailed  by  the  third  part  of  the  Massagets'  power  :  where 
using  all  means  to  save  the  tents  and  succour  themselves,  they 
were  miserably  foiled  and  slain.  The  enemy  entering  the  camp 
and  perceiving  all  places  to  be  furnished  with  sumptuous  provision 
of  dainty  and  delicious  meats,  took  the  benefit  of  so  good  and 
favourably  fortune,  and  fell  freshly  to  the  banquet,  in  so  much 
that  having  their  stomachs  forced  with  victuals  and  their  heads 
inchaunted  with  wine,  they  were  taken  with  a  profound  and 
heavy  sleep  :  when  of  a  sudden  the  Persians  returning  from  their 


362  ENGLISH  PROSE 


ambush,  came  upon  them  unawares,  and  putting  the  most  part  to 
the  sword,  the  rest  they  took  and  apprehended  aHve.  Among 
these  was  the  son  of  Queen  Tomyris  named  Spargapises,  to  whom 
was  given  and  committed  the  guiding  of  the  army.  Tomyris, 
advertised  of  her  son's  misfortune  together  with  the  chance  and 
loss  of  her  subjects,  full  of  stomach  and  displeasure,  sent  her 
legate  the  second  time,  and  saluted  Cyrus  on  this  wise. 

Thou  insatiable  and  bloody  butcher,  boast  not  thyself  of  this 
thou  hast  done,  for  if  by  the  fruit  and  sap  of  the  wine  (wherewith 
thyself  other  whiles  being  filled  to  the  very  eyes  art  free  from  no 
madness,  vice,  and  blasphemy)  if  herewith  I  say,  thou  hast  taken 
and  inchaunted  my  son  :  it  is  thy  policy,  not  thy  power  ;  thy  craft, 
not  thy  courage,  that  hath  gotten  thee  the  victory.  Well  then  ; 
once  again  hear  me,  and  be  ruled  by  my  counsel  :  get  thee  hence 
yet,  and  be  speedily  packing,  release  my  son  whom  thou  hast  in 
hold  :  for  if  in  case  thou  refuse  and  stay  but  one  moment,  I  swear 
by  the  sun,  and  the  god  and  king  of  the  Massagets,  I  will  glut 
that  greedy  paunch  of  thine  with  abundance  of  blood,  wherewith 
thou  seemest  to  be  insaturable  and  never  to  be  satisfied.  These 
words,  with  Cyrus,  came  in  at  one  ear  and  went  out  at  the  other, 
lighter  in  value  than  the  wind  in  weight. 

Notwithstanding,  seely  Spargapises,  son  to  the  stout  and 
courageous  queen  Tomyris,  being  throughly  awaked  and  come  to 
himself,  perceiving  the  case  he  was  in,  humbly  besought  Cyrus  to 
loose  him  and  take  off  his  bonds  :  which  done,  and  having  his 
hands  at  liberty,  he  pawnched  himself  into  the  belly  with  a 
javelin,  and  so  died.  Such  was  the  end  and  heavy  destiny  of 
poor  Spargapises,  the  queen's  son.  Whom  his  mother  greatly 
lamenting,  and  seeing  her  counsel  to  take  no  place,  gathered  a 
mighty  power  and  fought  with  king  Cyrus  in  such  sort,  that  of  all 
battles  and  combatryes  of  the  barbarians  there  was  never  any  so 
bloody,  fell,  and  cruel  on  both  sides  as  this.  The  fight  and  battle 
itself  was  in  this  manner.  First  of  all  being  distant  one  from 
another-  a  certain  space,  they  assaulted  each  other  by  shot  of 
arrows,  which  being  spent  and  consumed,  so  fierce  a  close  was 
given  on  both  parts  with  swords,  daggers,  and  javelins,  that  the 
very  fire  sparkled  out  by  the  force  and  might  of  their  blows. 
Thus  the  battle  remained  equal  a  great  space,  neither  part  yield- 
ing the  breadth  of  a  hair  to  his  enemy,  till  at  the  length  the 
Massagets  prevailing,  made  a  great  slaughter  of  the  Persians  : 
wherein  Cyrus  himself  having  reigned  thirty  years  save  one,  made 


HOLLAND  AND   THE  CLASS LCAL   TRANSLATORS     363 


a  final  end  and  conclusion  of  his  days  :  whom  the  wrathful  queen 
Tomyris  seeking  out  among  the  slain  and  mangled  bodies  of  the 
Persians,  took  his  head  and  throwing  it  into  a  vessel  filled  with 
blood,  in  vaunting  and  glorious  wise  insulted  over  it  in  these 
words.  Thou  butcherly  tyrant,  my  son  thou  tookest  by  craft  and 
killedst  by  cruelty,  wherefore  with  thyself  I  have  kept  touch. 
Now  therefore  take  thy  fill,  bloody  caitiff,  suck  there  till  thy  belly 
crack.  In  this  manner  died  the  noble  king  Cyrus  :  of  whose 
death  and  end  since  many  and  sundry  things  are  bruited,  it 
seemed  us  good  to  follow  that,  which  among  the  rest  sounded 
nearest  to  truth. 

(From   the  Famous  History  of  Herodotus^   translated  by 
B.  R.  \Bar)iaby  Rich\) 


GREAT  BRITAIN  AND   HER  INHABITANTS 

The  site  of  Britannic  and  dwellers,  described  by  sundry  writers, 
I  purpose  here  to  declare,  not  to  compare  in  fineness  or  wit,  but 
because  it  was  then  first  thoroughly  subdued  :  so  that  such  things, 
as  our  elders  without  perfect  discovery  have  polished  with  pen, 
shall  now  be  set  faithfully  down  upon  knowledge.  Britannic,  of 
all  islands  known  to  the  Romans  the  greatest,  coasteth  by  east 
upon  Germanic,  by  west  toward  Spain,  and  hath  France  on  the 
south  :  northward  no  land  lying  against  it,  but  only  a  vast  and 
broad  sea  beating  about  it.  The  figure  and  fashion  of  whole 
Britannic,  by  Livy  of  the  ancient,  and  Fabius  Rusticus  of  the 
modern,  the  most  eloquent  authors,  is  likened  to  a  long  dish  or 
two-edged  axe  :  and  so  is  the  part  shapen  indeed  of  this  side 
Caledonia,  whereupon  the  fame  went  of  the  whole  as  it  seemeth  : 
but  there  is  beside  a  huge  and  enorme  track  of  ground,  which 
runneth  beyond  unto  the  furthermost  point,  growing  narrow  and 
sharp  like  a  wedge.  This  point  of  the  utmost  sea  the  Roman 
fleet  then  first  of  all  doubling  discovered  Britannic  to  be  an  island, 
and  withal  found  out  and  subdued  the  isles  of  Orkney  before  that 
time  never  known.  Thyle  also  was  looked  at  aloof,  which  snow 
hitherto  and  winter  had  covered.  The  sea  thereabout  they  affirm 
to  be  dull  and  heavy  for  the  oar  and  not  to  be  raised  as  others 
with  winds  :  belike  because  land  and  mountains  are  rare,  which 
minister  cause  and  matter  of  tempests,  and  because  a  deep  mass 


364  ENGLISH  PROSE 


of  continual  sea  is  slower  stirred  to  rage.  To  examine  the  nature 
of  the  ocean  and  tides  pertaineth  not  to  this  work,  and  many 
have  done  it  before  :  one  thing  I  will  add,  and  may  safely  avouch, 
that  the  sea  no  where  in  the  world  rangeth  and  ruleth  more  freely, 
carrying  by  violence  so  much  river  water  hither  and  thither,  and 
is  not  content  to  flow  and  to  ebb  so  far  as  the  banks,  but  inserteth 
and  windeth  itself  into  the  land,  shooting  into  the  mountains  and 
cliffs  as  to  his  own  channel.  Now  what  manner  of  men  the  first 
inhabitants  of  Britannie  were,  foreign  brought  in,  or  born  in  the 
land,  as  among  a  barbarous  people,  it  is  not  certainly  known. 
Their  complexions  are  different  and  thence  may  some  conjectures 
be  taken  :  for  the  red  hair  of  the  dwellers  in  Caledonia,  and 
mighty  limbs  import  a  German  descent.  The  coloured  counten- 
ances of  the  Silures,  and  hair  most  commonly  curled,  and  site 
against  Spain,  seem  to  induce,  that  the  old  Spaniards  passed  the 
sea  and  possessed  those  places.  The  nearest  to  France  likewise 
resemble  the  French,  either  because  they  retain  of  the  race  from 
which  they  descended,  or  that  in  countries  butting  together  the 
same  aspects  of  the  heavens  do  yield  the  same  complexions  of 
bodies.  But  generally  it  is  most  likely  the  French,  being  nearest, 
did  people  the  land.  In  their  ceremonies  and  superstitious 
persuasions,  there  is  to  be  seen  an  apparent  conformity :  the 
language  differeth  not  much  :  like  boldness  to  challenge  and  set 
into  dangers  ;  when  dangers  are  come,  like  fear  in  refusing : 
saving  the  Britons  make  show  of  more  courage,  as  being  not 
mollified  yet  by  long  peace,  for  the  French  also  were  once,  as  we 
read,  redoubted  in  war,  till  such  time  as,  giving  themselves  over 
to  peace  and  idleness,  cowardice  crept  in,  and  shipwrack  was 
made  both  of  manhood  and  liberty  together.  And  so  it  is  also 
befallen  to  those  of  the  Britons  which  were  subdued  of  old  ;  the 
rest  remain  such  as  the  French  were  before.  Their  strength  in 
the  field  consisteth  in  footmen  ;  some  countries  make  war  in 
wagons  also :  the  greater  personage  guideth  the  wagon,  his 
wayters  and  followers  fight  out  of  the  same.  Heretofore  they 
were  governed  by  kings,  now  they  are  drawn  by  petty  princes  into 
partialities  and  factions  :  and  that  is  the  greatest  help  we  have 
against  those  puissant  nations,  that  they  have  no  common  council 
together  :  seldom  it  chanceth  that  two  or  three  states  meet  and 
concur  to  repulse  the  common  danger :  so  whilst  one  by  one 
fighteth,  all  are  subdued.  The  sky  very  cloudy  and  much  given 
to  rain  without  extremity  of  cold.      The  length   of  the  days  much 


HOLLAND  AND  THE  CLASSICAL   TRANSLATORS    365 

above  the  measure  of  our  climate.  The  nights  hght,  and  in  the 
furthermost  part  of  the  island  so  short,  that  between  the  going 
out  and  coming  in  of  the  day  the  space  is  hardly  perceived,  and 
when  clouds  do  not  hinder  they  affirm  that  the  sunshine  is  seen 
in  the  night  and  that  it  neither  setteth  nor  riseth  but  passeth 
along  :  because  belike  the  extreme  and  plain  parts  of  the  earth 
project  a  low  shadow  and  raise  not  the  darkness  on  height ;  so 
the  night  falleth  under  the  sky  and  the  stars.  The  soil,  setting 
aside  olive  and  vine  and  the  rest,  which  are  proper  to  warmer 
countries,  taketh  all  kind  of  grain  and  beareth  it  in  abundance  : 
it  shooteth  up  quickly  and  ripeneth  slowly  ;  the  cause  of  them 
both  is  the  same,  the  overmuch  moisture  of  the  soil  and  the  air. 
Britannie  beareth  gold  and  silver,  and  other  metals  to  enrich  the 
conqueror.  The  ocean  bringeth  forth  pearl  also,  not  orient,  but 
duskish  and  wan,  which  proceedeth,  as  some  do  suppose,  of  lack 
of  skill  in  the"  gatherers,  for  in  the  Red  Sea  they  are  pulled 
panting  alive  from  the  rocks  ;  in  Britannie  cast  out  by  the  sea 
and  so  taken  up.  For  my  part  I  do  rather  believe  the  nature  of 
the  pearl  not  to  yield  it,  than  that  our  covetousness  could  not  find 
out  the  way  to  gather  aright.  The  Britons  endure  levies  of  men 
and  money  and  all  other  burdens  imposed  by  the  Empire  patiently 
and  willingly  if  insolencies  be  forborne  :  indignities  they  cannot 
abide,  being  already  subdued  as  to  be  subjects,  but  not  to  be 
slaves. 

(From  the  Life  of  Julius  Agricola,  written  by  Cornelius 
Tacitus.) 


JOHN  STOW 

[Stow  was  born  in  London  in  1525,  and  died  there  in  1605.  By  trade 
he  was  a  tailor,  but  all  his  tastes  were  for  antiquarian  studies.  In  1561  he 
published  a  Summary  of  English  Chronicles,  which  in  many  editions  was 
very  popular.  In  1580  appeared  the  first  issue  of  his  Annals  of  England,  a 
much  larger  work,  since  known  as  his  Chronicle.  It  relates  the  history  of 
England  from  the  year  1108  B.C.,  when  "Brute  builded  the  city  of  New 
Troy,  now  called  London. "  His  Survey  of  London  was  first  published  in 
1598,  and  again  in  1603.  He  assisted  in  the  compilation  of  the  revised 
edition  of  Holinshed's  Chronicle,  edited  Chaucer,  and  induced  Archbishop 
Parker  to  print  various  early  annalists.  So  poverty  stricken  was  his  old  age 
that  James  I.  granted  him  a  licence  "to  collect  among  our  loving  subjects 
their  voluntary  contribution  and  kind  gratuities."] 

A  SENTENCE  of  Ben  Jonson,  recorded  by  Drummond,  gives  the 
essence  of  all  that  a  critic  can  desire  to  say  about  the  "  Venerable  " 
Stow  :  "  John  Stow  had  monstrous  observations  in  his  Chronicle, 
and  was  of  his  craft  a  tailor.  He  and  I  walking  alone,  he  asked 
two  cripples  what  they  would  take  to  have  him  of  their  order." 
Here  we  have  noted  the  industry  which  made  William  Harrison, 
a  contemporary  worker  in  the  same  field,  call  Stow's  study  "  the 
only  storehouse  of  antiquities  in  my  time,"  and  the  cheerful 
humour  which  could  turn  his  own  poverty  into  a  mock.  The 
qualities  that  impress  the  reader  of  the  Chronicle  and  the  Survey 
of  London  are  precisely  those  of  laboriousness  and  geniality. 
Stow  seems  to  have  been  inspired  by  the  preternatural  efforts 
of  Leland.  He  regarded  his  own  task  in  the  light  of  a  mission. 
"  I,  seeing  the  confuse  order  of  our  late  English  Chronicles  aind 
the  ignorant  handling  of  ancient  affairs,  leaving  mine  own  peculiar 
gains,  consecrated  myself  to  the  search  of  our  famous  antiquities." 
Stow's  language  is  easy  and  fluent,  but  not,  as  a  rule,  remark- 
able for  elevation  ;  he  does  not  affect  the  parallelism  or  the 
symbolical  allusions  characteristic  of  so  many  Elizabethans.  He 
laboured,  he  says,  for  the*  truth  ;  and  as  he  allows,  in  the  dedi- 

367 


368  ENGLISH  PROSE 


cation  of  his  Chronicle^  that  his  style  is  "  simple  and  naked," 
criticism  can  well  afford  to  be  generous  towards  him.  It  is 
probable  that  he  wrote  just  as  he  spoke,  and  it  is  certain  that  if 
he  spoke  as  he  wrote,  Ben  Jonson  could  not  have  found  a  better 
gossip  for  a  day's  walk.  He  is  never  afraid  of  a  digression.  He 
can  discuss  an  antiquarian  point  at  infinite  length.  But  he 
does  not  by  any  means  wear  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve.  One 
would  have  thought  it  difficult  for  a  man  who  was  of  age  in  1546, 
who  lived  to  witness  the  accession  of  James  I.,  and  whose 
Chronicle  ( 1 3 1 8  quarto  pages  of  black  letter  in  the  edition  of 
1 601)  devotes  nearly  half  of  its  bulk  to  the  reigns  of  Henry  VHI. 
and  his  three  children,  not  to  indicate  his  prepossession  on  the 
subject  of  religion.  Every  turn  of  the  weathercock  is  recorded  ; 
it  is  noted,  for  instance,  as  a  matter  of  importance  in  the  early 
reign  of  Edward  VI.,  that  Latimer,  after  a  silence  of  eight  years, 
resumed  his  sermons  at  Paul's  Cross.  But  there  is  no  attempt 
at  criticism,  and,  indeed,  in  the  whole  of  the  Chro?ticle  it 
would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  definite  declaration  than  when, 
describing  under  the  year  1400,  with  characteristic  gusto,  the 
painted  tomb  and  effigy  of  the  poet  John  Gower,  in  Southwark, 
Stow  concludes  with  the  significant  words  :  "  All  which  is  now 
washed  out  and  the  image  defaced  by  cutting  off  the  nose  and 
striking  off  the  hands,  because  they  were  elevated  towards  heaven" 
Like  most  of  the  Elizabethan  chroniclers,  who  took  their  cue  from 
the  old  monkish  annalists.  Stow  thought  a  historian's  duty  (and 
there  was  doubtless  prudence  in  the  thought)  to  be  merely  to 
"point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale."  At  moralising,  indeed,  he  is 
admirable.  Here  is  a  fine  sentence  about  Wolsey  :  "  Thus  passed 
the  Cardinal  his  time  from  day  to  day,  and  year  to  year,  in  such 
great  wealth,  joy,  triumph,  and  glory  ;  having  always  on  his  side 
the  King's  special  favour,  until  fortune  envied  his  prosperous 
estate,  as  is  to  the  world  well  known,  and  shall  be  partly  touched 
upon  hereafter."  And  again  of  Wolsey  :  "  Whose  history  who  list 
to  read  with  a  clear  eye  may  behold  the  mutability  of  vain  honours, 
and  brittle  assurance  in  abundance  ;  the  uncertainty  of  dignities, 
the  flattering  of  feigned  friends,  and  the  fickle  favour  of  worldly 
princes."  Such  passages,  however,  are  exceptional  ;  and  it  may 
be  added  that  in  perusing  the  Chronicle  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
distinguish  Stow's  own  composition  from  the  work  of  his  pre- 
decessors. The  old  chroniclers  had  little  scruple  in  "  conveying  " 
a  good  narrative.      It  was  an  understood  thing  among  them,  for 


JOHN  STOW  369 

instance  (and  Stow  is  no  exception),  that  Sir  Thomas  More's 
fragment  on  Richard  III.  should  appear  in  their  accounts  of  that 
unhappy  monarch.  Shakespeare  had  in  this  way  the  benefit  of  a 
sort  of  Homeric  tradition  on  which  to  base  his  Histories. 

The  Survey  of  Lo)idon  is  more  read  in  our  day  than  the 
Chronicle.  It  is  an  admirable  guide-book  to  London  under 
Elizabeth.  After  introductory  discussions  on  rivers,  bridges, 
customs,  and  other  general  topics,  Stow  gives  a  detailed  account 
of  each  ward  in  the  City,  street  by  street,  and  sometimes  almost 
house  by  house.  His  facts  are  usually  interesting,  and  though 
much  of  the  work  is  hardly  literature,  the  writer's  evident  delight 
in  his  theme,  and  the  occasional  references  to  himself  and  his 
simple  doings,  make  it  enjoyable  reading.  As  a  basis  for  the 
history  and  topography  of  London  it  is  said  to  be  invaluable.  A 
modern  reader  cannot  entirely  subdue  a  feeling  of  annoyance 
that,  for  all  his  keen  eyes  (they  are  described  as  "  chrystaline  ") 
and  his  ready  pen,  Stow's  only  mention  of  the  London  theatres 
is  a  casual  allusion  in  his  first  edition,  which  he  cut  out  of  the 
second  !  But  the  good  man  was  doubtless  better  employed  than 
in  theatre-going.  No  dweller  in  the  London  of  to-day  can  resist 
the  charms  of  a  writer  who  tells  him  there  was  a  time  when  wells 
"  in  the  suburbs,  sweet,  wholesome,  and  clean,  among  which 
Holy  Well,  Clerkes'  Well,  and  Clement's  Well  are  most  famous, 
were  frequented  by  scholars  and  youths  of  the  city  in  summer 
evenings,  when  they  walked  forth  to  take  the  air  "  ; — nay,  when 
the  Venerable  one  himself,  then  a  mere  youth,  fetched  milk,  at 
a  halfpenny  the  quart,  from  a  farm  by  the  Minories,  where 
"  Trolop,  and  afterwards  Goodman,  were  the  farmers,  and  had 
thirty  or  forty  kine  to  the  pail,"  and  Goodman's  son  let  out  the 
land  for  grazing,  and  "  lived  like  a  gentleman  thereby." 

James  Miller  Dodds. 


VOL.   1  2  B 


ORATION  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY 

The  fifteenth  of  July  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Lord  Governor  of  Flush- 
ing, the  Lord  Willoughby,  with  those  powers  they  had  received 
from  the  garrison  of  Axel,  considering  the  coming  in  of  the  water 
into  the  land  of  Waste,  which  might  sufficiently  defend  that 
country,  removed  the  camp  :  the  Lord  Willoughby  to  Bergen-op- 
zoom,  where  he  was  governor,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  passed  the  sea 
with  a  three  thousand  men,  whose  enterprise  shall  be  shewed 
hereafter.  This  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  at  or  before  the  taking  of 
Axel,  within  an  English  mile  of  the  town,  called  so  many  of  his 
soldiers  together  as  could  hear  him,  and  there  made  a  long 
oration,  wherein  he  declared  what  cause  they  had  in  hand,  as 
God's  cause  ;  under  and  for  whom  they  fought,  for  her  Majesty, 
whom  they  knew  so  well  to  be  so  good  unto  them  ;  that  he  needed 
not  to  shew  against  whom  they  fought,  men  of  false  religion, 
enemies  to  God  and  His  Church  :  against  Antichrist,  and  against 
a  people  whose  unkindness  both  in  nature  and  in  life  did  so  excel, 
that  God  would  not  leave  them  unpunished.  Further,  he  per- 
suaded them  that  they  were  Englishmen,  whose  valour  the  world 
feared  and  commended,  and  that  now  they  should  not  either  fear 
death  or  peril  whatsoever,  both  for  that  their  service  they  owed 
to  their  Prince  and,  further,  for  the  honour  of  their  country  and 
credit  to  themselves.  Again,  the  people  whom  they  fought  for 
were  their  neighbours,  always  friends  and  well-willers  to  English- 
men. And  further,  that  no  man  should  do  any  ser\'ice  worth  the 
noting,  but  he  himself  would  speak  to  the  uttermost  to  prefer  him 
to  his  wished  purpose.  Which  oration  of  his  did  so  link  the 
minds  of  the  people,  that  they  desired  rather  to  die  in  that  service 
than  to  live  in  the  contrary. 

(From  Stow's  Chronicle.') 


370 


JOHN  STOW  371 


MAY  DAY  IN   LONDON 

In  the  month  of  May,  namely  on  May-day  in  the  morning, 
every  man,  except  impediment,  would  walk  into  the  sweet  meadows 
and  green  woods,  there  to  rejoice  their  spirits  with  the  beauty 
and  savour  of  sweet  flowers,  and  with  the  harmony  of  birds, 
praising  God  in  their  kind  ;  and  for  example  hereof,  Edward  Hall 
hath  noted,  that  King  Henry  VIII.,  as  in  the  3rd  of  his  reigr, 
and  divers  other  years,  so  namely,  in  the  7th  of  his  reign,  on 
May-day  in  the  morning,  with  Queen  Katherine  his  wife, 
accompanied  with  many  lords  and  ladies,  rode  a-Maying  from 
Greenwich  to  the  high  ground  of  Shooter's  Hill,  where,  as  they 
passed  by  the  way,  they  espied  a  company  of  tall  yeomen,  clothed 
all  in  green,  with  green  hoods,  and  bows  and  arrows,  to  the 
number  of  two  hundred  ;  one  being  their  chieftain,  was  called 
Robin  Hood,  who  required  the  king  and  his  company  to  stay 
and  see  his  men  shoot  ;  whereunto  the  king  granting,  Robin 
Hood  whistled  and  all  the  two  hundred  archers  shot  off,  loosing 
all  at  once ;  and  when  he  whistled  again  they  likewise  shot 
again  ;  their  arrows  whistled  by  craft  of  the  head,  so  that  the 
noise  was  strange  and  loud,  which  greatly  delighted  the  king, 
queen,  and  their  company.  Moreover,  this  Robin  Hood  desired 
the  king  and  queen  with  their  retinue,  to  enter  the  green  wood, 
where,  in  harbours  made  of  boughs,  and  decked  with  flowers,  they 
were  set  and  served  plentifully  with  venison  and  wine  by  Robin 
Hood  and  his  men,  to  their  great  contentment,  and  had  other 
pageants  and  pastimes,  as  ye  may  read  in  my  said  author. 

I  find  also,  that  in  the  month  of  May,  the  citizens  of  London 
of  all  estates,  lightly  in  every  parish,  or  sometimes  two  or  three 
parishes  joining  together,  had  their  several  mayings,  and  did 
fetch  in  May-poles,  with  divers  warlike  shows,  with  good  archers, 
morris  dancers,  and  other  devices,  for  pastime  all  the  day  long  ; 
and  toward  the  evening  they  had  stage  plays,  and  bonfires  in  the 
streets.  Of  these  mayings  we  read,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI., 
that  the  aldermen  and  sheriffs  of  London,  being  on  May-day  at 
the  Bishop  of  London's  wood,  in  the  parish  of  Stebunheath,  and 
having  there  a  worshipful  dinner  for  themselves  and  other 
commoners,  Lydgate  the  poet,  that  was  a  monk  of  Bury,  sent  to 


372  ENGLISH  PROSE 


them,   by  a  pursuivant,  a  joyful  commendation   of  that   season, 
containing  sixteen  staves  of  metre  royal,  beginning  thus  : — 

' '  Mighty  Flora  !  goddess  of  fresh  flowers — 

Which  clothed  hath  the  soil  in  lusty  green, 

Made  buds  spring,  with  her  swete  showers, 
By  the  influence  of  the  sunne  shine  : 

To  doe  pleasance  of  intent  full  cleane, 
Unto  the  States  which  now  sit  here, 

Hath  Vere  down  sent  her  owne  daughter  dear  : 

Making  the  vertue,  that  dared  in  the  roote, 

Called  of  clarks  the  vertue  vegetable, 
For  to  transcend,  most  holsome  and  most  soote, 

Into  the  crop,  this  season  so  agreeable, 
The  bawmy  liquor  is  so  commendable. 

That  it  rejoiceth  with  his  fresh  moisture, 
Man,  beast,  and  fowle,  and  every  creature,"  etc. 

These  great  mayings  and  May-games,  made  by  the  governors 
and  masters  of  this  city,  with  the  triumphant  setting  up  of  the 
great  shaft  (a  principal  May-pole  in  Cornhill,  before  the  parish 
Church  of  St.  Andrew  therefore  called  Undershaft),  by  means  of 
an  insurrection  of  youths  against  aliens  on  May-day  i  5  1 7,  the  9th 
of  Henry  VIII.,  have  not  been  so  freely  used  as  afore,  and  there- 
fore I  leave  them. 

(From  the  Survey  of  London.) 


WHITEHALL 

South  from  Charing  Cross,  on  the  right  hand,  are  divers  fair 
houses  lately  built  before  the  park,  then  a  large  tiltyard  for  noble- 
men, and  other,  to  exercise  themselves  in  justing,  turning,  and 
fighting  at  barriers. 

On  the  left  hand  from  Charing  Cross  be  also  divers  fair  tene- 
ments lately  built,  till  ye  come  to  a  large  plot  of  ground  inclosed 
with  brick,  and  is  called  Scotland,  where  great  buildings  have 
been  for  receipt  of  the  kings  of  Scotland,  and  other  estates  of  that 
country  ;  for  Margaret,  queen  of  Scots,  and  sister  to  King  Henry 
VIII.,  had  her  abiding  there,  when  she  came  into  England  after 
the  death  of  her  husband,  as  the  kings  of  Scotland  had  in  former 
times,  when  they  came  to  the  parliament  of  England. 

Then  is  the  said  Whitehall,  sometime  belonging  to  Hubert  de 


JOHN  STOW  373 

Burgh,  earl  of  Kent,  and  justice  of  England,  who  gave  it  to  the 
Black  Friars  in  Oldborne,  as  I  have  before  noted.  King  Henry 
VIII.  ordained  it  to  be  called  an  honour,  and  built  there  a 
sumptuous  gallery  and  a  beautiful  gate-house,  thwart  the  high 
street  to  St.  James'  park,  etc. 

In  this  gallery,  the  princes,  with  their  nobility,  used  to  stand 
or  sit,  and  at  windows,  to  behold  all  triumphant  justings  and  other 
military  exercises. 

Beyond  this  gallery,  on  the  left  hand,  is  the  garden  or  orchard 
belonging  to  the  said  Whitehall. 

On  the  right  hand  be  divers  fair  tennis-courts,  bowling-alleys, 
and  a  cock-pit,  all  built  by  King  Henry  VIII.,  and  then  one  other 
arched  gate,  with  a  way  over  it,  thwarting  the  street  from  the 
king's  gardens  to  the  said  park. 

From  this  gate  up  King's  street  to  a  bridge  over  Long  ditch 
(so  called  for  that  the  same  almost  insulateth  the  city  of  West* 
minster),  near  which  bridge  is  a  way  leading  to  Chanon  row,  so 
called  for  that  the  same  belonged  to  the  dean  and  chanons  of 
St.  Stephen's  chapel,  who  were  there  lodged,  as  now  divers 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  be  ;  whereof  one  is  belonging  to  Sir 
Edward  Hobbey,  one  other  to  John  Thine,  esquire,  one  stately 
built  by  Ann  Stanhope,  duchess  of  Somerset,  mother  to  the  earl 
of  Hartfbrd,  who  now  enjoyeth  that  house.  Next  a  stately  house 
now  in  building  by  William  earl  of  Darby  ;  over  against  the  which 
is  a  fair  house,  built  by  Henry  Clinton,  earl  of  Lincoln. 

From  this  way  up  to  the  Woolestaple  and  to  the  high  tower, 
or  gate  which  entereth  the  palace  court,  all  is  replenished  with 
buildings  and  inhabitants. 

(From  the  Same.) 


JOHN  LYLY 

[John  Ly]y  was  corn  in  1553  or  1554,  and  died  in  1606.  Euphues' 
the  Anatomy  of  Wit  was  published  in  1579  ;  Eupkues  and  his  England 
in  1580.  Lyly's  comedies,  most  of  them  written  in  prose,  belong  to 
later  years,  from  1584  onward.  They  were  written  to  be  acted  before  the 
Queen  by  the  children  of  Paul's,  but  seem,  in  spite  of  their  courtly  and  artificial 
character,  to  have  met  with  some  favour  also  from  popular  audiences.  The 
comedies  have  the  same  kind  of  rhetoric  in  them  as  Euphues  has  ;  with  some 
new  qualities  of  their  own,  and  less  moralising.] 

The  success  of  Lyly's  Euphues  was  due  to  a  tact  and  dexterity 
that  were  seldom  at  fault.  Euphues  is  made  out  of  stuff  that  was 
common  to  all  the  world,  or  at  any  rate  to  all  scholars,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  pattern  of  the  work  that  is  absolutely  new. 
Detailed  criticism  of  Euphues  has  left  to  the  author  of  the  book 
hardly  anything  that  he  can  call  his  own,  except  the  skill  to  catch 
the  right  moment  in  which  to  give  to  his  contemporaries  this 
abridgment  of  their  favourite  opinions,  tastes,  and  vanities.     - 

Euphues,  in  its  two  parts,  is  an  edifying  story,  carrying  out  in 
its  own  way  the  same  design  as  Spenser's  in  the  Faerie  Queene — 
"  to  fashion  a  gentleman  or  noble  person  in  vertuous  and  gentle 
discipline."  This  was  the  end  of  all  poetry  according  to  the 
doctrine  of  those  days  ;  a  doctrine  that  might  easily  become  con- 
ventional, and,  on  that  account,  entertaining,  as  in  Harrington's 
demure  apology  for  his  Orlando.  But  it  was  not  always  held 
conventionally  or  hypocritically  :  it  was  not  accepted  in  that  way 
by  Sidney  or  Spenser,  nor  by  Lyly.  The  quaintness  and  pedantry 
of  his  discourse  ought  not  to  put  out  of  view  the  simplicity  and 
dignity  of  his  purpose.  Sometimes  one  is  reminded  by  Lyly  of 
the  vogue  of  instructive  handbooks  in  that  time — "  books  for  good 
manners  "  as  Touchstone  calls  them — but  sometimes  also  there 
rises,  beyond  this  delusive  fashion  of  edification,  an  ideal  of 
"  vertuous  and  gentle  discipline,"  which  is  pjroof  against  cavillers. 

375 


376  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Ages  before  Euphues,  romantic  literature  had  begun  to  pursue  an 
ideal  of  this  sort :  first  by  mere  insistence  on  certain  ideal  qualities, 
by  the  repetition  of  a  certain  type,  by  the  courtesy  of  Gawain  as 
set  off  against  the  churlishness  of  Kay.  In  Amadis  of  Gaul  Xhe 
ideal  character  is  strongly  emphasised.  Tirant  the  White,  still  later 
among  the  books  of  chivalry,  is  definitely  a  story  with  a  purpose  ; 
the  purpose  differs  from  that  of  Euphues  in  being  more  concerned 
with  the  virtues  of  men  of  war  ;  the  proportion  between  story  and 
moralising  is  much  the  same  as  in  Euphues.  In  this  way  the 
interest  in  problems  of  education  and  ideals  of  character  passed 
on  from  one  generation  to  another,  changing  in  particulars,  as  the 
peaceful  and  scholarly  view  began  to  usurp  on  the  ideals  of 
chivalry,  or  to  blend  with  them.  The  matter  of  Lyly's  book  was 
matter  accommodated  to  his  own  time.  It  put  off  altogether  the 
fashion  of  chivalry  which  lingered  in  other  books  so  long. 

The  life  of  the  hero  is  passed  in  unwarlike  society,  and  it  is  the 
life  of  this  society  that  is  represented  in  the  book  by  the  different 
characters  and  their  conversations,  their  arguments,  and  moral 
epistles.  The  morality,  the  theology,  are  the  morality  and  theology 
of  the  Faerie  Queene  without  the  poetry  or  the  romance.  What  Lyly 
has  in  place  of  these  qualities  is  a  certain  interest  in  modern  char- 
acter, a  certain  skilfulness,  here  and  there,  in  describing  moods  and 
sentiments.  The  character  of  Ififida,  her  cruelty  and  constancy, 
in  Euphues  and  his  England,  is  an  instance  of  this  kind  of 
description.  Everywhere  Lyly's  narrative  is  impeded  by  his 
digressions  and  illustrations,  and  the  wit  of  what  he  calls  "quick 
and  ready  replies  "  is  merely  appalling.  But  his  quickness  of  wit 
is  shown  in  the  way  he  deals  with  sentimental  vicissitudes,  and 
this  also  is  the  secret  of  his  popularity. 

The  style  of  Euphues  has  been  often  described  and  analysed. 
Like  much  of  the  matter  of  the  book  the  style  had  been  anticipated 
by  previous  authors.  The  essence  of  it  is  the  habit  of  using 
balanced  phrases  :  Lyly's  sentences  break  up  into  pairs  of  phrases, 
as  Johnson's  fall  into  triplets.  This  peculiarity  looks  like  a  first 
attempt  at  careful  modelling  of  the  sentence  ;  balance  and  antithesis 
being  naturally  the  first  devices  that  suggest  themselves  to  a 
sophist  who  wants  something  neater  than  loose-strung  clauses. 
Lyly's,  however,  is  not  the  first  attempt  at  neat  sentences  ;  and 
examples  of  this  simple  figure  lay  ready  to  his  hand.  He 
might  have  picked  it  up  from  his  Prayer  Book. 

It  has  been  shown  by  Dr.  Landmann  in  his  essay  on  Euphuism 


'  JOHN  LYLY  377 

that  many  of  the  characteristics  of  Lyly's  style  are  to  be  found  in 
the  Spanish  of  Guevara,  and  more  distinctly  in  the  English  trans- 
lations and  imitations  of  Guevara,  before  Lyly.  Guevara  may  be 
taken  as  the  author  who  did  most  to  fix  for  a  time  this  fashion  of 
grammatical  construction,  which  was  one  of  the  first  inventions  of 
Greek  prose  rhetoric.  The  English  translations  of  Guevara  are 
numerous,  and  to  the  most  famous  of  them,  the  Marco  Aurelio, 
translated  by  Lord  Berners  first,  and  then  by  Sir  Thomas  North, 
Lyly  seems  to  be  indebted  for  something  more  than  lessons  in 
composition.  The  Marco  Aurelio,  the  Dial  of  Princes,  is  the 
source  of  many  things  belonging  to  the  substance  of  Lyly's  book. 
The  style  of  Euphucs  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  directly  borrowed 
from  Guevara.  Lyly  used  consistently  and  deliberately  a  manner  of 
writing  that  had  been  used  occasionally  by  earlier  writers,  and  that 
in  Lyly's  time  was  evidently  growing  into  a  literary  habit,  before 
and  apart  from  Euphucs.  Just  as  Guevara  in  Spain  by  a  con- 
sistent use  of  the  ordinary  figure  of  balanced  clauses  had  ruled  the 
fashion  which  he  did  not  invent,  so  Lyly,  coming  two  generations 
later  into  acquaintance  with  the  English  variations  on  Guevara, 
took  them  up,  appropriated  them,  and  worked  them  out  with  more 
pains  than  any  one  else  had  bestowed  on  them. 

The  marks  of  Euphuism  are  three  :  balance  of  phrases,  an 
elaborate  system  of  alliteration,  and  a  methodical  use  of  similes 
taken  generally  from  the  virtues  of  different  creatures — "the  fish 
Scolopidus"  "the  serpent  Porp/iyrius,"''  and  a  thousand  others. 

The  first  quality  is  common  to  all  early  experiments  in  sentence- 
making.  The  second  had  begun  to  be  developed  by  North  and 
Ascham  :  it  represents,  in  English,  the  jingle  of  syllables,  the 
Paronomasia,  Parechesis,  and  other  distressing  symptoms  noted 
by  the  classical  rhetoricians.  This  kind  of  ornament  is  one  of  the 
earliest  invented,  and  the  soonest  outworn  ;  the  use  of  it  makes 
one  of  Plato's  touches  in  his  dramatic  portrait  of  the  seedy  person 
with  intellectual  tastes  who  reports  the  conversation  of  the 
Symposium.  Lyly's  alliteration  is  much  less  obvious  and,  in  fact, 
much  less  essential  to  his  style  than  the  other  two  mannerisms. 

The  continual  reference  to  beasts  and  precious  stones  was,  and 
is,  felt  as  the  most  annoying  of  the  devices  of  Euphuism.  In  this 
also  Lyly  had  predecessors,  who  dealt,  for  instance,  in  "  the  herb 
Camomile  ;  the  more  it  is  trodden  down  the  more  it  spreadeth 
abroad."  But  their  ventures  were  modest  and  occasional :  Lyly  in 
this,  as  in  ever)'thing,  made  the  most  of  his  chances  ;  he  felt  bound 


378  ENGLISH  PROSE 


to  set  up  a  larger  collection  of  moral  animals  than  any  one  else 
had,  and  to  use  it  more  instructively  and  perseveringly. 

It  is  his  quickness  of  wit  that  is  his  strength.  He  knows  the 
utmost  that  can  be  done  with  his  resources,  and  he  is  satisfied 
with  nothing  short  of  the  utmost.  It  is  this  unfailing  certainty 
about  his  own  faculties  and  his  aims  that  preserves,  even  now,  a 
certain  grace  in  Lyly's  moral  story,  though  its  day  is  so  long 
passed  over.  In  his  comedy  his  aim  was  more  distinct,  his 
faculty  less  encumbered.  His  songs  have  a  value  not  comparable 
with  anything  in  his  prose. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


i, 


LOVE'S    CONSTANCY 

When  my  lady  came,  and  saw  me  so  altered  in  a  month,  wasted 
to  the  hard  bones,  more  like  a  ghost  than  a  living  creature,  after 
many  words  of  comfort  (as  women  want  none  about  sick  persons) 
when  she  saw  opportunity,  she  asked  me  whether  the  Italian 
were  my  messenger,  or  if  he  were,  whether  his  embassage  were 
true,  which  question  I  thus  answered. 

"  Lady,  to  dissemble  with  the  world,  when  I  am  departing  from 
it,  would  profit  me  nothing  with  man,  and  hinder  me  much  with 
God,  to  make  my  deathbed  the  place  of  deceit,  might  hasten  my 
death,  and  increase  my  danger. 

"  I  have  loved  you  long,  and  now  at  the  length  I  must  leave 
you,  whose  hard  heart  I  will  not  impute  to  discourtesy,  but  destiny  ; 
it  contenteth  me  that  I  died  in  faith,  though  I  could  not  live  in 
favour,  neither  was  I  ever  more  desirous  to  begin  my  love,  than 
I  am  now  to  end  my  life.  Things  which  cannot  be  altered  are 
to  be  borne,  not  blamed  :  follies  past  are  sooner  remembered  than 
redressed,  and  time  lost  may  well  be  repented,  but  never  recalled. 
I  will  not  recount  the  passions  I  have  suffered,  I  think  the  effect 
show  them,  and  now  it  is  more  behoveful  for  me  to  fall  to  praying 
for  a  new  life,  than  to  remember  the  old  :  yet  this  I  add  (which 
though  it  merit  no  mercy  to  save,  it  deserveth  thanks  of  a  friend) 
that  only  I  loved  thee,  and  lived  for  thee,  and  now  die  for  thee." 
And  so  turning  on  my  left  side,  I  fetched  a  deep  sigh. 

Iffida,  the  water  standing  in  her  eyes,  clasping  my  hand  in 
hers,  with  a  sad  countenance  answered  me  thus. 

"  My  good  Fidus,  if  the  increasing  of  my  sorrows,  might 
mitigate  the  extremity  of  thy  sickness,  I  could  be  content  to 
resolve  myself  into  tears  to  rid  thee  of  trouble  :  but  the  making 
of  a  fresh  wound  in  my  body  is  nothing  to  the  healing  of  a  festered 
sore  in  thy  bowels  :  for  that  such  diseases  are  to  be  cured  in  the 
end,  by  the  names  of  their  original.  For  as  by  basil  the  scorpion 
is  engendered  and  by  the  means  of  the  same  herb  destroyed  :  so 

379 


38o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


love  which  by  time  and  fancy  is  bred  in  an  idle  head,  is  by  time 
and  fancy  banished  from  the  heart  :  or  as  the  salamander  which, 
being  a  long  space  nourished  in  the  fire,  at  the  last  quencheth  it, 
so  affection  having  taken  hold  of  the  fancy,  and  living  as  it  were 
in  the  mind  of  the  lover,  in  tract  of  time  altereth  and  changeth 
the  heat,  and  turneth  it  to  chillness. 

"  It  is  no  small  grief  to  me  Fidus,  that  I  should  be  thought 
to  be  the  cause  of  thy  languishing,  and  cannot  be  remedy  of  thy 
disease.  For  unto  thee  1  will  reveal  more  than  either  wisdom 
would  allow,  or  my  modesty  permit. 

"  And  yet  so  much,  as  may  acquit  me  of  ungratitude  towards 
thee,  and  rid  thee  of  the  suspicion  conceived  of  me. 

"  So  it  is,  Fidus  and  my  good  friend,  that  about  a  two  years 
past,  there  was  in  court  a  gentleman  not  unknown  unto  thee,  nor  I 
think  unbeloved  of  thee,  whose  name  I  will  not  conceal,  lest  thou 
shouldest  either  think  me  to  forge,  or  him  not  worthy  to  be  named. 
This  gentleman  was  called  Thirsus,  in  all  respects  so  well  qualified 
as  had  he  not  been  in  love  with  me,  I  should  have  been  enamoured 
of  him. 

"  But  his  hastiness  prevented  my  heat,  who  began  to  sue  for 
that,  which  1  was  ready  to  proffer,  whose  sweet  tale  although  I 
wished  it  to  be  true,  yet  at  the  first  I  could  not  believe  it :  for 
that  men  in  matters  of  love  have  as  many  ways  to  deceive,  as 
they  have  words  to  utter. 

"  I  seemed  strait-laced,  as  one  neither  accustomed  to  such  suits, 
nor  willing  to  entertain  such  a  servant,  yet  so  warily,  as  putting 
him  from  me  with  my  little  finger,  I  drew  him  to  me  with  my 
whole  hand. 

"  For  I  stood  in  a  great  mamjnering,  how  I  might  behave  my- 
self, lest  being  too  coy  he  might  think  me  proud,  or  using  too 
much  courtesy,  he  might  judge  me  wanton.  Thus  long  time  I 
held  him  in  a  doubt,  thinking  thereby  to  have  just  trial  of  his 
faith,  or  plain  knowledge  of  his  falsehood.  In  this  manner  I  led 
my  life  almost  one  year,  until  with  often  meeting  and  divers  con- 
ferences, I  felt  myself  so  wounded,  that  though  I  thought  no 
neaven  to  my  hap,  yet  I  lived  as  it  were  in  hell  till  I  had  enjoyed 
my  hope. 

"  For  as  the  tree  ebenus  though  it  no  way  be  set  in  a  flame, 
yet  it  burneth  with  sweet  savours  :  so  my  mind  though  it  could 
not  be  fired,  for  that  1  thought  myself  wise,  yet  was  it  almost 
consumed  to  ashes  with  pleasant  dcliyhts  and  sweet  cogitations  : 


JOHN  LYLY  381 

insomuch  as  it  fared  with  me,  as  it  doth  with  the  trees  stricken 
with  thunder,  which  having  the  barks  sound,  are  bruised  in  the 
body,  for  finding  my  outward  parts  without  blemish,  looking  into 
my  mind,  could  not  see  it  without  blows. 

"  I  now  perceiving  it  high  time  to  use  the  physician,  who  was 
always  at  hand,  determined  at  the  next  meeting  to  conclude  such 
faithful  and  inviolable  league  of  love,  as  neither  the  length  of 
time,  nor  the  distance  of  place,  nor  the  threatening  of  friends, 
nor  the  spite  of  fortune,  nor  the  fear  of  death,  should  either  alter  or 
diminish  :  which  accordingly  was  then  finished,  and  hath  hitherto 
been  truly  fulfilled. 

"  Thirsus,  as  thou  knowest,  hath  ever  since  been  beyond  the 
seas,  the  remembrance  of  whose  constancy  is  the  only  comfort 
of  my  life  :  neither  do  I  rejoice  in  anything  more,  than  in  the 
faith  of  my  good  Thirsus. 

"  Then  Fidus  I  appeal  in  this  case  to  thy  honesty,  which  shall 
determine  of  mine  honour.  Wouldest  thou  have  me  inconstant 
to  my  old  friend,  and  faithful  to  a  new  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that 
as  the  almond  tree  beareth  most  fruit  when  he  is  old,  so  love 
hath  greatest  faith  when  it  groweth  in  age.  It  falleth  out  in  love, 
as  it  doth  in  vines,  for  the  young  vines  bring  the  most  wine  but 
the  old  the  best  :  so  tender  love  maketh  greatest  show  of  blossoms, 
but  tried  love  bringeth  forth  sweetest  juice. 

"  And  yet  I  will  say  thus  much,  not  to  add  courage  to  thy 
attempts,  that  I  have  taken  as  great  delight  in  thy  company,  as 
ever  I  did  in  any's  (my  Thirsus  only  excepted)  which  was  the 
cause  that  oftentimes,  I  would  either  by  questions  move  thee  to 
talk,  or  by  quarrels  incense  thee  to  choler,  perceiving  in  thee  a 
wit  answerable  to  my  desire,  which  I  thought  throughly  to  whet 
by  some  discourse.  But  wert  thou  in  comeliness  Alexander,  and 
my  Thirsus,  Thersites,  wert  thou  Ulysses,  he  Midas,  thou  Croesus, 
he  Codrus,  I  would  not  forsake  him  to  have  thee  :  no  not  if  I 
might  thereby  prolong  thy  life,  or  save  mine  own,  so  fast  a  root 
hath  true  love  taken  in  my  heart,  that  the  more  it  is  digged  at, 
the  deeper  it  groweth,  the  oftener  it  is  cut,  the  less  it  bleedeth, 
and  the  more  it  is  loaden,  the  better  it  beareth. 

"  What  is  there  in  this  vile  earth  that  more  commendeth  a 
woman  than  constancy  ?  It  is  neither  his  wit,  though  it  be 
excellent,  that  I  esteem,  neither  his  birth  though  it  be  noble,  nor 
his  bringing  up,  which  hath  always  been  courtly,  but  only  his 
constancy  and  my  faith,  which  no  torments,  no  tyrant,  not  death 


382  ENGLISH  PROSE 


shall  dissolve.  For  never  shall  it  be  said  that  Iffida  was  false  to 
Thirsus,  though  Thirsus  be  faithless  (which  the  Gods  forfend) 
unto  Iffida. 

"  For  as  Amulius  the  cunning  painter  so  portrayed  Minerva, 
that  which  way  so  ever  one  cast  his  eye,  she  always  beheld  him  : 
so  hath  Cupid  so  exquisitely  drawn  the  image  of  Thirsus  in  my 
heart,  that  what  way  soever  I  glance,  me  thinketh  he  looketh 
stedfastly  upon  me  :  insomuch  that  when  I  have  seen  any  to  gaze 
on  my  beauty  (simple,  God  wot,  though  it  be)  I  have  wished  to 
have  the  eyes  of  Augustus  Caesar  to  dim  their  sights  with  the 
sharp  and  scorching  beams. 

"  Such  force  hath  time  and  trial  wrought,  that  if  Thirsus  should 
die  I  would  be  buried  with  him,  imitating  the  eagle  which  Sesta 
a  virgin  brought  up,  who  seeing  the  bones  of  the  virgin  cast  into 
the  fire,  threw  himself  in  with  them,  and  burnt  himself  with  them. 
Or  Hippocrates'  twins,  who  were  born  together,  laughed  together, 
wept  together,  and  died  together. 

"  For  as  Alexander  would  be  engraven  of  no  one  man,  in  a 
precious  stone,  but  only  of  Pergotales :  so  would  I  have  my 
picture  imprinted  in  no  heart,  but  in  his,  by  Thirsus. 

"  Consider  with  thyself  Fidus,  that  a  fair  woman  without  con- 
stancy, is  not  unlike  unto  a  green  tree  without  fruit,  resembling 
the  counterfeit  that  Praxitiles  made  for  Flora,  before  the  which 
if  one  stood  directly,  it  seemed  to  weep,  if  on  the  left  side  to 
laugh,  if  on  the  other  side  to  sleep  :  whereby  he  noted  the  light 
behaviour  of  her,  which  could  not  in  one  constant  shadow  be  set 
down. 

"  And  yet  for  the  great  good  will  thou  bearest  me,  I  cannot 
reject  thy  service,  but  I  will  not  admit  thy  love.  But  if  either 
my  friends,  or  myself,  my  goods,  or  my  good  will  may  stand  thee 
in  stead,  use  me,  trust  me,  command  me,  as  far  forth  as  thou 
canst  with  modesty,  and  I  may  grant  with  mine  honour.  If  to 
talk  with  me,  or  continually  to  be  in  thy  company,  may  in  any 
respect  satisfy  thy  desire,  assure  thyself,  I  will  attend  on  thee,  as 
diligently  as  thy  nurse,  and  be  more  careful  for  thee,  than  thy 
physician.  More  I  cannot  promise,  without  breach  of  my  faith, 
more  thou  canst  not  ask  without  the  suspicion  of  folly. 

"  Here  Fidus,  take  this  diamond,  which  I  have  heard  old 
women  say,  to  have  been  of  great  force,  against  idle  thoughts, 
vain  dreams,  and  frantic  imaginations,  which  if  it  do  thee  no 
good,  assure  thyself  it  can  do  thee  no  harm,  and  better  I  think  it 


JOHN  LYLY  383 

against  such  enchanted  fantasies,  than  either  Homer's  Moly,  or 
Pliny's  Centau7-ior 

When  my  lady  had  ended  this  strange  discourse,  I  was  stricken 
into  such  a  maze,  that  for  the  space  almost  of  half  an  hour,  I  lay 
as  it  had  been  in  a  trance,  mine  eyes  almost  standing  in  my  head 
without  motion,  my  face  without  colour,  my  mouth  without  breath, 
insomuch  that  Iffida  began  to  screech  out,  and  call  company, 
which  called  me  also  to  myself,  and  then  with  a  faint  and 
trembling  tongue,  I  uttered  these  words.  "  Lady  I  cannot  use 
as  many  words  as  I  would,  because  you  see  I  am  weak,  nor  give 
so  many  thanks  as  I  should,  for  that  you  deserve  infinite.  If 
Thirsus  have  planted  the  vine,  I  will  not  gather  the  grapes : 
neither  is  it  reason,  that  he  having  sowed  with  pain,  that  I  should 
reap  the  pleasure.  This  sufficeth  me  and  delighteth  me  not  a 
little,  that  you  are  so  faithful  and  he  so  fortunate.  Yet  good 
lady,  let  me  obtain  one  small  suit,  which  derogating  nothing  from 
your  true  love,  must  needs  be  lawful,  that  is,  that  I  may  in  this 
my  sickness  enjoy  your  company,  and  if  I  recover,  be  admitted 
as  your  servant  :  the  one  will  hasten  my  health,  the  other  prolong 
my  life."  She  courteously  granted  both,  and  so  carefully  tended 
me  in  my  sickness,  that  what  with  her  merry  sporting,  and  good 
nourishing,  I  began  to  gather  up  my  crumbs,  and  in  short  time 
to  walk  into  a  gallery,  near  adjoining  unto  my  chamber,  where 
she  disdained  not  to  lead  me,  and  so  at  all  times  to  use  me,  as 
though  I  had  been  Thirsus.  Every  evening  she  would  put  forth 
either  some  pretty  question  or  utter  some  merry  conceit,  to  drive 
me  from  melancholy.  There  was  no  broth  that  would  down,  but 
of  her  making,  no  meat  but  of  her  dressing,  no  sleep  enter  into 
mine  eyes,  but  by  her  singing,  insomuch  as  she  was  both  my 
nurse,  my  cook,  and  my  physician.  Being  thus  by  her  for  the 
space  of  one  month  cherished,  I  waxed  strong  and  so  lusty,  as 
though  I  had  never  been  sick. 

Now  Philautus,  judge  not  partially,  whether  was  she  a  lady  of 
greater  constancy  towards  Thirsus,  or  courtesy  towards  me  ? 

Philautus  thus  answered.  "  Now  surely  Fidus,  in  my  opinion, 
she  was  no  less  to  be  commended  for  keeping  her  faith  inviolable, 
than  to  be  praised  for  giving  such  alms  unto  thee,  which  good 
behaviour,  differeth  far  from  the  nature  of  our  Italian  dames, 
who  if  they  be  constant  they  despise  all  other  that  seem  to  love 
them.  But  I  long  yet  to  hear  the  end,  for  me  thinketh  a  matter 
begun  with  such  heat,  should  not  end  with  a  bitter  cold." 


384  ENGLISH  PROSE 


O  Philautus,  the  end  is  short  and  lamentable,  but  as  it  is 
have  it. 

She  after  long  recreating  of  herself  in  the  countr)-,  repaired 
again  to  the  court,  and  so  did  I  also,  where  I  lived,  as  the 
elephant  doth  by  air,  with  the  sight  of  my  lady,  who  ever  used 
me  in  all  her  secrets  as  one  that  she  most  trusted.  But  my  joys 
were  too  great  to  last,  for  even  in  the  middle  of  my  bliss,  there 
came  tidings  to  Iffida,  that  Thirsus  was  slain  by  the  Turks,  being 
then  in  pay  with  the  King  of  Spain,  which  battle  was  so  bloody, 
that  many  gentlemen  lost  their  lives. 

Iffida  so  distraught  of  her  wits,  with  these  news  fell  into  a 
phrensy,  having  nothing  in  her  mouth,  but  always  this,  "  Thirsus 
slain,  Thirsus  slain,"  ever  doubling  this  speech  with  such  pitiful 
cries  and  screeches,  as  it  would  have  moved  the  soldiers  of 
Ulysses  to  sorrow.  At  the  last  by  good  keeping,  and  such  means 
as  by  physic  were  provided,  she  came  again  to  herself,  unto 
whom  I  writ  many  letters  to  take  patiently  the  death  of  him, 
whose  life  could  not  be  recalled  ;  divers  she  answered,  which  I 
will  shew  you  at  my  better  leisure. 

But  this  was  most  strange,  that  no  suit  could  allure  her  again 
to  love,  but  ever  she  lived  all  in  black,  not  once  coming  where 
she  was  most  sought  for.  But  within  the  term  of  five  years,  she 
began  a  little  to  listen  to  mine  old  suit,  of  whose  faithful  meaning 
she  had  such  trial  as  she  could  not  think  that  either  my  love  was 
builded  upon  lust,  or  deceit. 

But  destiny  cut  off  my  love,  by  the  cutting  off  her  life,  for 
falling  into  a  hot  pestilent  fever,  she  died,  and  how  I  took  it,  I 
mean  not  to  tell  it  :  but  forsaking  the  court  presently,  I  have 
here  lived  ever  since,  and  so  mean  until  death  shall  call  me. 

(From  Eiiphues  and  his  England^ 


ROBERT  PARSONS 


[Robert  Parsons,  Jesuit,  was  born  in  Somersctshife  in  1546,  and  was 
educated  at  Balliol  Coilcge,  Oxford,  where  in  1572  he  took  the  degree  of 
M.A.  For  religious  reasons  resigning  his  fellowship,  he  travelled  abroad, 
where,  falling  under  the  influence  of  the  Jesuits,  he  joined  that  order,  then 
in  the  pride  of  its  full  strength,  and  set  about  the  designs  entrusted  to  his 
conscience  with  a  remarkable  fervour.  He  travelled  to  England  with  Edmund 
Campion,  and  after  the  execution  of  that  celebrated  Jesuit,  he  fled  the  country, 
established  a  short-lived  Catholic  School  at  Rheims,  which  latter  was  revived 
at  St.  Omer,  and  after  a  residence  in  Rome  as  rector  of  the  English  College 
he  died  there  in  1610.  His  works  are  very  numerous,  but  of  a  somewhat 
fragmentary  character,  and  he  frequently  wrote  anonymously  both  in  Latin 
and  in  English.  His  two  most  notable  contributions  to  the  letters  of  his  time 
may  be  considered  more  carefully  here,  inasmuch  as  they  afford  the  best  test  of 
his  possible  claim  as  a  master  of  literary  art.  ] 

For  a  certain  directness  of  speech  and  acuteness  of  thought, 
Robert  Parsons'  famous  Apology  of  the  Catholic  Hierarchy  —  to 
give  it  a  summary  title — achieved  the  distinction  of  praise  from 
the  pen  of  Dean  Swift.  It  would  be  no  difficult  task  to  discover 
the  reasons  of  such  praise  from  such  a  writer.  Parsons,  from 
conscious  or  unconscious  art,  was  before  all  things  simple,  lucid, 
and  without  the  slightest  taint  of  obscurity — qualities  pre-eminent 
in  the  writer  that  praised  him.  Yet  there  is  not  very  much  further 
to  say  of  this  writer.  His  life  seems  to  have  been  too  full  of 
fervent  restlessness  to  leave  him  leisure  for  the  long  contempla- 
tion which  usually  results  in  the  composition  of  thoughtful  litera- 
ture— that  literature  which  claims  the  highest  recognitions  of  a 
critical  posterity.  Parsons  wrote  for  other  sakes  than  the  sake 
of  his  art.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  even  regarded  his  writing  in  any 
artistic  light.  He  wrote  for  a  purpose.  He  had  the  affairs  of 
this  world  (and  the  other  for  that  matter)  very  much  at  heart  ; 
his  impulsive  bent  of  disposition  which  overflowed  in  this  channel 
and  in  that  channel,  overflowed  also  in  writing  ;  and  because  he 
saw  very  clearly  that  which  he  desired  to  achieve,  whether  by 
VOL.  I  385  2  C 


3^6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


word  of  mouth  or  by  his  pen,  and  because  his  mind  was  absolutely 
untrammelled  by  afterthoughts  and  delicate  questionings,  by  un- 
certainties or  hesitant  flutterings  of  spirit,  he  did,  in  fact,  produce 
a  kind  of  literature,  strong,  incisive,  and  crystal  clear. 

He  was  a  man  that,  had  he  been  gifted  with  a  more  placid 
and  philosophic  temper,  might  have  proved  a  rare  and  consummate 
artist.  Hidden  somewhere  away,  and  treated  very  indifferently 
by  himself,  he  possessed  a  striking  gift  of  clear  vision,  which  at 
times  surprises  and  convinces  his  readers  by  its  astonishing  clarity. 
Take  that  sentence  in  a  passage  to  be  quoted  later,  in  which 
he  sets  himself  on  high  over  the  earth,  watching  our  planet, 
"  moistened,"  as  he  says,  "  with  rivers,  as  a  body  with  veins." 
The  quick,  and  as  it  seems,  unconscious  quality  of  the  metaphor, 
is  sweeping  in  its  effect,  yet  singularly  simple  in  its  essence.  In 
such  a  passage  he  is  seen  at  his  best,  since  it  is  here  that  he 
realises  himself  most  acutely.  Now  he  himself  was  a  person 
who,  by  reason  of  his  strength  of  purpose,  was  worthy  of 
realisation. 

To  set  him  in  a  definite  place  of  literature  would  be  to  grant 
him  too  much  honour.  He  is  a  free  lance,  and  cannot  be  ranked 
among  the  regular  armies  of  art.  Even  as  a  writer  of  his  own 
time  it  is  difficult  to  appraise  his  relative  worth.  He  is  full  of 
platitudes ;  his  thought  is  usually  quite  obvious  ;  and  he  is 
incapable  of  large  sympathies.  As  a  writer  of  controversy — it 
was  in  this  province  that  he  usually  laboured — he  is  ever  at  a 
fever  heat  ;  so  that  he  scarce  ever  takes  account  of  his  own  words. 
He  pours  out  all  the  bitterness  he  can  conceive  on  the  moment, 
and  sets  it  down  for  good  or  evil  ;  being  a  strong  man  he  often 
spoke  bitterness  with  wonderful  effectiveness.  Too  often  he  was 
merely  puerile.  But,  take  him  all  in  all,  he  must  be  described  as 
a  man  who  often  wrote  excellently  well,  because  his  vision  was 
excellently  clear,  and  his  intentions  perfectly  plain  to  his  own 
roughly  strong,  though  somewhat  conventional,  mind. 

Vernon  Blackburn. 


THE   EARTH   TEACHES   GOD 

If  we  cast  down  our  eyes  from  Heaven  to  earth,  we  behold  the 
same  of  an  immense  bigness,  distinguished  with  hills  and  dales, 
woods  and  pasture,  covered  with  all  variety  of  grass,  herbs, 
flowers,  and  leaves  ;  moistened  with  rivers,  as  a  body  with  veins  ; 
inhabited  by  creatures  of  innumerable  kinds  and  qualities  ;  en- 
riched with  inestimable  and  endless  treasures  :  and  yet  itself 
standing,  or  hanging  rather,  with  all  this  weight  and  poise,  in  t)ie 
midst  of  the  air,  as  a  little  ball  without  prop  or  pillar. 

At  which  surprising  and  most  wonderful  miracle  of  nature, 
God  Himself,  as  it  were,  glorying,  said  unto  Job  :  "  Where  wast 
thou,  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ?  tell  me,  if  thou 
hast  understanding.  Who  set  the  measures  thereof,  if  thou  know  ? 
or  who  stretched  out  the  line  upon  it  ?  upon  what  are  the  founda- 
tions thereof  grounded  ?  or  who  let  down  the  corner  stone  thereof, 
when  the  morning  stars  praised  me  together,  and  all  the  sons  of 
God  made  jubilation  ?" 


THE   SEA  SHOWS   GOD 

If  we  look  neither  up  nor  down,  but  cast  our  countenance  only 
aside  ;  we  espy  the  sea  on  each  hand  of  us  that  environs  round 
about  the  land.  A  vast  creature,  that  contains  more  wonders 
than  man's  tongue  can  express.  A  bottomless  gulf,  that,  without 
running  over,  receives  all  rivers,  which  perpetually  flow.  A 
restless  sight  and  turmoil  of  waters,  that  never  repose  neither  day 
nor  night  ;  a  dreadful,  raging,  and  furious  element,  that  swells 
and  roars,  and  threatens  the  land,  as  though  it  would  devour  it 
all  at  once.  And  though  in  situation  it  is  higher  than  the  earth, 
as  the  philosopher  shows  {Arisf.  lib.  de  mirabilibus'),  and  makes 
assault  daily  towards  the  same,  with  most  terrible  cries  and  waves 

387 


388  ENGLISH  PROSE 


mounted  even  to  the  sky  :  yet  when  it  draws  near  to  the  land, 
and  to  its  appointed  borders,  it  stays  upon  the  sudden,  though 
nothing  be  there  to  stop  it ;  and  is  forced  to  recoil  back  again, 
murmuring,  as  it  were,  because  it  is  not  permitted  to  pass  any 
farther. 

Of  which  restraint,  God  asks  Job  this  question  :  "  Who  shut 
up  the  sea  with  doors,  when  it  breaks  forth,  proceeding  as  it  were 
out  of  a  matrice  ? "  Whereunto  no  man  being  able  to  give 
answer,  God  answers  Himself  in  these  words  :  "  I  compassed  it 
with  my  bounds,  and  put  bars  and  doors.  And  I  said,  Hitherto 
thou  shalt  come,  and  shalt  not  proceed  further :  and  here  thou 
shalt  break  thy  swelling  waves." 


THE  THINGS   IN   MAN   DECLARE  GOD 

This,  in  short,  may  be  sufficient  to  prove  the  existence  of  a  God, 
from  these  things  we  see  without  us.  But  if  we  should  leave 
these,  and  enter  to  seek  God  within  our  own  selves  ;  whether  we 
consider  our  bodies,  or  our  souls,  or  any  one  part  thereof,  we 
shall  find  so  many  strange  things,  or  rather  so  many  seas  of 
miracles  and  wonders,  that  preach  and  show  the  glory  of  their 
Maker,  that  we  shall  not  only  perceive  and  see  God  most 
evidently,  but  rather,  as  a  certain  old  heathen  has  written,  "  We 
shall  feel  and  handle  him  in  his  works  "  {lambliciis  de  myst.  c.  i ). 

(From  the  Christian  Directory.) 


THE  SECURITY  OF  ECCLESIASTICAL  ORDER 

Here  then  is  our  censure  of  the  issue  of  this  matter,  that  broken 
heads  will  follow  of  all  sides,  but  there  may  perhaps  be  some 
doubt  or  difference  of  opinions,  where  most  broken  heads  are 
likest  to  light.  But  he  that  on  the  other  side  will  consider 
indifferently  who  they  are  and  of  what  number,  condition,  and 
quality,  against  whom  our  discontented  brethren  (so  few  in 
number  and  green  in  credit)  do  make  this  voluntary  war,  he 
cannot  greatly  doubt  of  the  event  thereof  For  as  for  the  Arch- 
priest,  his  assistants,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  English  clergy  joined 


ROBER  T  PA RSONS  389 


with  them,  being  men  of  that  virtue,  learning,  and  approved 
gravity,  which  all  the  world  knoweth,  what  great  hurt  can  they 
receive  at  these  men's  hands,  but  only  some  little  scratches  in 
their  names  for  a  time  (a  thing  of  no  moment)  and  some  exercise 
of  their  patience,  as  before  out  of  St.  Augustine  hath  been  touched  ? 
And  much  more  may  this  be  said  of  the  Jesuits,  who  are  a  body 
conjoined  by  charity  and  rules  of  virtue,  and  dispersed  over  the 
world,  and  exercised  in  divers  places  with  like  contradiction  to 
this,  whereby  they  grow  rather  in  perfection  of  life,  and  diligent 
guard  over  their  own  actions,  than  be  overthrown,  or  greatly 
hurted.  And  with  those  two  bodies  are  joined  also,  for  defence 
of  peace,  order,  and  discipline,  all  higher  superiors  of  spiritual 
government,  so  as  our  brethren  are  like  to  break  few  heads  here, 
but  only  their  own  (if  we  be  not  deceived),  but  rather  after  they 
have  wearied  themselves,  must  expect  the  issue  before  mentioned 
in  the  fourth  consideration,  of  hurts  and  damages  to  themselves 
and  the  common  cause. 

And  albeit  some  of  them  perhaps  may  be  encouraged  to  go 
forward  in  this  contention,  by  the  applause  or  approbation  which 
they  have  found  in  some  good  men  or  women  at  this  beginning, 
seduced  or  impressioned  upon  their  own  sinister  informations,  yet 
when  matters  shall  come  to  more  mature  examination,  and  the 
evil  effects  before  mentioned  be  seen  and  discovered,  it  is  probable 
that  these  being  good  and  godly  Catholics  and  prudent  people, 
will  be  of  another  opinion,  and  by  little  and  little  enter  into  due 
consideration,  where  authority,  where  obedience,  that  is  to  say, 
where  God's  part  goeth  ;  on  which  side  order,  subordination,  and 
discipline  do  consist,  where  and  with  whom  the  body  and  multi- 
tude of  our  Church  standeth,  where  peaceable  or  passionate  minds 
do  bear  rule.  They  will  look  also  with  time  into  the  difference 
of  men's  lives  and  manners,  to  wit,  where  modesty,  humility,  and 
mortification  are  to  be  seen,  what  priests  are  given  most  to  prayer, 
patience,  longanimity  of  mind,  tranquillity  of  spirit,  and  who  to 
the  contrary.  They  will  ponder  also  who  are  most  hated  and 
pursued  by  the  enemy  for  their  labours  and  endeavours  against 
them  in  the  Catholic  cause,  and  who  are  most  favoured  or 
tolerated  by  them  :  which  is  no  small  mark  to  know  how  matters 
go. 

(From  a  Briefe  apologie  or  defence  of  the  Catholike  Ecclesi- 
astical Hierarchic  and  subordination  in  England.) 


390  ENGLISH  PROSE 


DISTURBERS  OF   PEACEFUL  UNION 

But  for  that  we  are  forced  to  expect  yet  some  longer  time,  b^ore 
we  can  have  these  informations  together,  and  in  the  mean  space 
are  much  urged  by  the  request  of  divers  good  men,  as  also  by 
the  intemperate  manner  of  proceeding  in  the  authors  of  these 
late  books  (whosoever  they  be)  to  set  forth  somewhat  for  a  stay 
or  stop,  for  that  these  men  cease  not  to  write  most  opprobriously 
without  all  regard  of  truth  or  modesty,  and  do  promise  more 
daily  in  the  same  kind:  therefore  have  we  yielded  to  this  neces- 
sity (though  sore  against  our  wills)  hoping  that  shortly  the  other 
will  be  ready  to  succeed  also,  albeit  our  hearty  desire  should  be, 
that  the  authors  of  these  infamous  books,  and  of  this  most  scandal- 
ous division  in  our  Church,  would  so  enter  into  themselves,  and 
christianly  correct  their  own  doings,  as  both  this  and  that  might 
be  spared,  and  all  join  again  in  the  sweet  union  of  peace,  which 
is  needful  for  our  work  in  hand,  and  was  enjoyed  by  us  before 
this  animosity  of  a  few  hath  put  all  a-fire,  to  their  heavy  judg- 
ment no  doubt,  according  to  the  Apostle's  threat,  if  seriously  they 
seek  not  to  remedy  the  matter  in  the  time  :  and  we  do  say  of  a 
few,  for  that  we  cannot  persuade  ourselves  that  all  those  who  by 
divers  occasions  are  named  in  these  books  for  discontented,  have 
given  consent  to  have  them  written  in  the  style  they  go  in,  and 
much  less  to  be  printed,  and  published  to  the  world,  for  we  have 
a  far  different  opinion  of  their  modesty,  and  Christian  spirit,  so 
as  these  books  must  needs  be  presumed  to  have  been  published 
either  by  some  one  or  few  discomposed  passionate  people,  or  by 
some  heretic,  or  other  enemy  to  dishonour  them  all,  and  discredit 
our  cause  and  nation,  and  so  as  to  such  we  shall  answer,  and  not 
against  our  brethren  whom  we  love  most  entirely,  and  of  whose 
prayers  we  desire  to  be  partakers,  as  them,  and  we,  and  you,  all 
of  the  sweet  and  holy  Spirit  of  Jesus  our  Saviour  ;  to  Whom  we 
commend  you  most  heartily  this  first  of  July  1601. 

(From  the  Preface  to  the  Same.) 


STEPHEN   GOSSON 


[Stephen  Gosson,  who,  though  a  man  evidently  of  considerable  ability,  owes 
most  of  his  fame,  as  not  uncommonly  happens,  to  his  having  provoked  the 
unfavourable  notice  of  men  of  more  ability  than  himself,  was  a  Kentish  man 
by  birth.  He  would  seem  to  have  been  born  in  1555  or  a  little  earlier  :  he 
entered  at  Oxford  in  1572  (being  assigned  by  some  to  Christ  Church,  by 
others  with  more  assurance  of  authority  to  Corpus),  and  took  his  bachelor's 
degree  in  1576.  He  then  appears  to  have  gone  to  London  and  commenced 
at  once  poet,  playwright,  and  player.  His  pastorals  were  highly  thought  of, 
but  the  few  fragments  of  his  verse  which  are  extant  are  no  great  things.  Of 
his  plays  we  have,  given  by  himself,  the  titles  of  three,  Catiline  s  Conspiracies, 
of  course  a  tragedy  ;  Capiaifi  Mario,  a  comedy  ;  and  Praise  at  Parting,  a 
"  moral."  It  does  not  seem  quite  so  certain  that  he  actually  appeared  on  the 
stage,  but  both  from  his  adversaries'  remarks  (though  Lodge's  "player"  might 
simply  mean  "playwright")  and  his  own  excuses  it  is  probable.  However 
this  may  be,  he  seems  to  have  experienced  a  sudden  and  violent  conversion, 
which  led  him  to  give  up  the  theatre,  to  take  a  tutorship,  and  then  to  take  orders. 
There  is  no  space  here  for  the  details  of  the  controversy  excited  by  his  School 
0/  Abuse  (1579)  the  most  important  part  or  result  of  which  was  Sidney's  Defence 
of  Poesy,  or  Apology  for  Poetry.  Gosson,  who  had  dedicated  his  pamphlet  to 
Sidney  himself,  repeated  the  dedication  in  his  F.phemerides  of  Phi  a  lo  (1579)  a 
book  of  the  Lyly  kind,  to  which  an  .Apology  for  the  School  of  A  hi/ se  itself  is 
added  :  though  he  addressed  the  Plavs  Confuted  (1582)  which  concludes  the 
series  to  Sidney's  father-in-law,  W^alsingham.  He  survived  the  debate  many 
years,  successively  holding  a  curacy  at  Stepney,  the  Crown  living  of  Great 
Wigborough  in  Essex,  and  that  of  St.  Botolph's,  Bishopsgate,  and  writing  a 
few  small  works,  some  of  which  have  survived.  He  died  on  the  17th  Feb- 
ruary, 1623-4,  at  the  age  of  sixty-nine.] 

Go.ssoN  has  been  spoken  of  above  as  a  man  of  ability,  and 
this  he  certainly  was.  The  very  short  interval  between  the 
appearance  of  Eiiphues  and  that  of  the  School  of  Abuse  shows 
that  he  must  rather  have  mastered  the  Lylyan  style  in  the  same 
circumstances  and  situations  as  Lyly  than  have  directly  borrowed 
it  from  his  fellow  at  Oxford.  Nor  does  he  push  such  imitation 
as  there  is  to  the  e.xtremes  which  were  common,  and  which  in 

391 


392  ENGLISH  PROSE 


other  instances  (such  as  Lodge's  answer  to  his  own  attack)  show 
the  thing  to  be  mainly  imitative.  There  can  be  very  little  doubt 
that  there  was  considerable  justification  for  his  attack  as  far  as 
the  moral  and  social  side  of  the  matter  went :  and  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  both  his  direct  and  his  indirect  traversers  (for  Sidney 
nowhere  directly  attacks  the  School  of  Abuse)  take  no  small 
license  in  extending  his  indictment  from  dramatic  poetry  in 
particular  to  poetry  in  general.  It  is  true  that  Gosson  had  to 
some  extent  laid  himself  open  to  this,  especially  in  the  exordium 
of  the  School  of  Abuse.  As  for  his  own  work,  it  is  rather  a  pity 
that  the  whole  extant  part  of  it,  which  is  not  bulky  and  which 
hangs  pretty  closely  together,  has  never  been  reprinted  together, 
while  part  of  it  is  still  difficult  to  get  at.  The  School  of  Abuse, 
the  Apology  for  it,  and  the  Plays  Confuted  form  a  connected 
series,  the  tone  of  which  increases  in  gravity  and  religiosity  as  it 
goes  on.  The  EpJieinerides  of  Phialo,  which  accompanied  the 
Apology,  while  following  very  close  in  the  track  of  Euphues,  in 
its  dealings  with  friendship,  love,  and  so  forth,  both  in  manner 
and  substance,  glances  frequently  in  the  main  direction  of 
Gosson's  ascetic  and  reforming  thought.  The  four  following 
passages  will,  I  think,  fairly  represent  his  four  chief  works.  And 
however  unwilling  we  may  be  to  countenance  a  line  of  argument 
which  would  have  deprived  us  of  one  of  the  greatest  divisions  of 
English  literature,  I  think  Gosson  must  receive  credit  at  once  for 
absolute  purity  of  intention,  and  for  no  small  literary  and  intel- 
lectual power.  His  thought  and  argument,  though  narrow,  are 
by  no  means  without  acuteness,  his  illustrations  and  ornaments 
digress  much  less  than  is  usual  with  his  contemporaries  into 
mere  random  display  of  learning  and  wit,  and  his  style  is  better 
knit  than  is  usual  with  any  but  the  greatest  of  them.  He  was 
evidently  a  very  fair  scholar,  his  Latin  preface  to  the  Literarum 
studiosis  in  Oxonienst  Acadetnia,  prefixed  to  the  Epheinerides 
being  well  written,  and  his  scholarship  seems  to  have  had  much 
of  the  good  and  little  of  the  bad  influence  which  it  was  likely  to 
exert  on  his  English.  It  has  been  rather  usual,  and  not  unnatural 
in  the  circumstances,  to  think  of  him  as  a  dunce  and  an  enemy 
to  the  Muses,  but  few,  I  think,  who  give  him  a  fair  reading  will 
take  this  view. 

George  Saintsbury. 


MODERN    LUXURY 

Consider  with  thy  self  (gentle  reader)  the  old  discipline  of 
England,  mark  what  we  were  before,  and  what  we  are  now. 
Leave  Rome  a  while,  and  cast  thine  eye  back  to  thy  predecessors, 
and  tell  me  how  wonderfully  we  have  been  changed,  since  we  were 
schooled  with  these  abuses.  Dion  saith  that  English  men  could 
suffer  watching  and  labour,  hunger  and  thirst,  and  bear  of  all 
storms  with  head  and  shoulders  :  they  used  slender  weapons,  went 
naked,  and  were  good  soldiers,  they  fed  upon  roots  and  barks  of 
trees,  they  would  stand  up  to  the  chin  many  days  in  marshes 
without  victuals  ;  and  they  had  a  kind  of  sustenance  in  time  of 
need,  of  which  if  they  had  taken  but  the  quantity  of  a  bean,  or 
the  weight  of  a  pea,  they  did  neither  gape  after  meat,  nor  long 
for  the  cup  a  great  while  after.  The  men  in  valour  not  yielding 
to  Scythia,  the  women  in  courage  passing  the  Amazons.  The 
exercise  of  both  was  shooting  and  darting,  running  and  wrestling, 
and  trying  such  maisteries  as  either  consisted  in  swiftness  of  feet, 
agility  of  body,  strength  of  arms,  or  martial  discipline.  But  the 
exercise  that  is  now  among  us,  is  banqueting,  playing,  piping,  and 
dancing,  and  all  such  delights  as  may  win  us  to  pleasure,  or  rock 
us  on  sleep. 

Oh  what  a  wonderful  change  is  this  !  Our  wrestling  at  arms 
is  turned  to  wallowing  in  ladies'  laps  ;  our  courage  to  cowardice  ; 
our  running  to  riot,  our  bows  into  holies,  and  our  darts  to  dishes. 
We  have  robbed  Greece  of  gluttony,  Italy  of  wantonness,  Spain  of 
pride,  France  of  deceit,  and  Dutchland  of  quaffing.  Compare 
London  to  Rome,  and  England  to  Italy,  you  shall  find  the 
theatres  of  the  one,  the  abuses  of  the  other,  to  be  rife  among  us. 
Experto  crede,  I  have  seen  somewhat,  and  therefore  I  think  I  may 
say  the  more.  In  Rome  when  plays  or  pageants  are  shown,  Ovid 
chargeth  his  pilgrims  to  creep  close  to  the  saints,  whom  they 
serve,  and  shew  their  double  diligence  to  lift  the  gentlewomen's 

393 


394  ENGLISH  PROSE 


robes  from  the  ground,  for  soiling  in  the  dust,  to  sweep  motes 
from  their  kirtles,  to  keep  their  fingers  in  use,  to  lay  their  hands 
at  their  backs  for  an  easy  stay  ;  to  look  upon  those  whom  they 
behold,  to  praise  that  which  they  commend,  to  hke  everything 
that  pleaseth  them,  to  present  them  pomegranates  to  pick  as 
they  sit  ;  and  when  all  is  done,  to  wait  on  them  mannerly  to  their 
houses.  In  our  assemblies  at  plays  in  London,  you  shall  see 
such  heaving  and  shoving,  such  itching  ahd  shouldering,  to  sit  by 
women  ;  such  care  for  their  garments,  that  they  be  not  trod  on  ; 
such  eyes  to  their  laps,  that  no  chips  light  in  them  ;  such  pillows 
to  their  backs,  that  they  take  no  hurt  ;  such  masking  in  their  ears, 
I  know  not  what :  such  giving  them  pippins  to  pass  the  time  ; 
such  playing  at  foote  saunt  without  cards  ;  such  ticking,  such 
toying,  such  smiling,  such  winking,  and  such  manning  them  home 
when  the  sports  are  ended,  that  it  is  a  right  comedy  to  mark 
their  behaviour,  to  watch  their  conceits,  as  the  cat  for  the  mouse, 
and  as  good  as  a  course  at  the  game  itself,  to  dog  them  a  little, 
or  follow  aloof  by  the  print  of  their  feet,  and  so  discover  by  slot 
where  the  deer  taketh  soil. 

If  this  were  as  well  noted  as  ill  seen,  or  as  openly  punished  as 
secretly  practised,  I  have  no  doubt  but  the  cause  would  be  seared 
to  dry  up  the  effect,  and  these  pretty  rabbits  very  cunningly 
ferreted  from  their  burrows.  For  they  that  lack  customers  all 
the  week,  either  because  their  haunt  is  unknown,  or  the  constables 
and  officers  of  their  parish  watch  them  so  narrowly,  that  they 
dare  not  queatche,  to  celebrate  the  Sabbath,  flock  to  theatres,  and 
there  keep  a  general  market  of  vice. 

(From  The  School  of  Abuse.) 


THE    EVILS    OF    STAGE    PL.WS 

Plays  are  so  tolerable,  that  Lactantius  condemneth  them  flatly, 
without  any  manner  of  exception,  thinking  them,  the  better  they 
are  penned,  or  cunninglier  handled,  the  more  to  be  fled  ;  because 
that  by  their  pleasant  action  of  body  and  sweet  numbers  flowing 
in  verse,  we  are  most  enchanted.  And  Tully,  a  heathen,  crying 
out  against  poetry,  for  placing  bawdy  Cupid  among  the  gods, 
uttereth  these  words  in  the  end  :  De  comosdia  loquor.,  qticB  si  hcec 
Jlagitia  nan  probaremus,  nulla  esset  omnino;    I   speak  of  plays, 


STEPHEN  GOSSON  395 

which,  if  ourselves  did  not  love  this  filthiness,  should  never  be 
suffered.  If  players  take  a  little  more  counsel  of  their  pillow, 
they  shall  find  themselves  to  be  the  worst,  and  the  dangerousest 
people  in  the  world.  A  thief  is  a  shrewd  member  in  a  common- 
wealth, he  empties  our  bags  by  force,  these  ransack  our  purses 
by  permission  ;  he  spoileth  us  secretly,  these  rifle  us  openly  ;  he 
gets  the  upper  hand  by  blows,  these  by  merry  jests  ;  he  sucks  our 
blood,  these  our  manners  ;  he  wounds  our  body,  these  our  soul  ; 
O  God,  O  men,  O  heaven,  O  earth,  O  times,  O  manners,  O 
miserable  days  !  he  suffereth  for  his  offence,  these  strut  without 
punishment  under  our  noses  ;  and  like  unto  a  consuming  fire  are 
nourished  still  with  our  decay.  Lacon  thought  it  impossible  for 
him  to  be  good,  that  was  not  bitter  to  the  wicked,  then  how  shall 
we  be  persuaded  of  players,  which  are  most  pleasant  to  abomi- 
nable livers  ?  Diogenes  said,  that  it  was  better  to  be  a  man  of 
Mcpgaraes'  ram,  than  his  son,  because  he  provideth  a  shepherd 
to  look  to  his  fold  ;  but  seeketh  no  instructor  to  teach  his  child  ; 
he  hath  a  care  that  his  sheep  be  well  tendered  and  washed,  but 
never  regardeth  his  son's  discipline  ;  he  forbiddeth  the  one  to  run 
in  danger  of  the  wolf,  but  keeps  not  the  other  from  the  devil's 
claws  ;  and  if  Diogenes  were  now  alive,  to  see  the  abuses  that 
grow  by  plays,  I  believe  he  would  wish  rather  to  be  a  Londoners 
hound  than  his  apprentice,  because  he  rateth  his  dog  for  wallow- 
ing in  carrion,  but  rebukes  not  his  servant  for  resorting  to  plays, 
that  are  rank  poison.  So  corrupt  is  our  judgment  in  these 
matters,  that  we  account  him  a  murderer,  whom  we  see  delight 
in  shedding  of  blood  ;  and  make  him  a  jester,  that  woundeth  our 
conscience  ;  we  call  that  a  slaughter  house  where  brute  beasts  are 
killed  ;  and  hold  that  a  pastime,  which  is  the  very  butchery  of 
Christian  souls.  We  perceive  not  that  trouble  and  toil  draw  us  to 
life,  ease  and  idleness  bring  destruction  ;  that  sorrow  and  anguish 
are  virtuous  books,  pleasure  and  sport  the  devil's  baits  ;  that 
honest  recreation  quickeneth  the  spirits  and  plays  are  venomous 
arrows  to  the  mind  ;  that  hunters  deceive  most,  when  seeming  to 
walk  for  their  delight,  they  craftily  fetch  the  deer  about ;  that 
players  counterfeiting  a  shew  to  make  us  merr)-,  shoot  their  nets 
to  work  our  misery  ;  that  when  comedy  comes  upon  the  stage, 
Cupid  sets  up  a  springe  for  woodcocks,  which  are  entangled  ere 
they  descry  the  line,  and  caught  before  they  mistrust  the  snare. 

(From  An  Apology  of  the  School  of  Abuse.) 


396  ENGLISH  PROSE 


WHAT   IS   PLEASURE? 

You  abuse  the  word  pleasure  very  much,  when  taking  it  some- 
time in  one  sense,   sometime   in  another.      Now  fleeting  above, 
then  diving  to  the  bottom,  and  with  the  hedgehog,  never  abiding 
that    quarter    where  the  wind  blows,   you  are  able  to   draw  the 
simple  awry  and  make  them  angle  for  butterflies  in  a  dry  ditch. 
We  must  not  fight  loosely  as  the  wild   Scythians,  which  sally  out 
on   the    sudden    with   terrible    shouts,    brandish   their   darts  with 
invincible    courage,    and,    daring    not    tarry    the    chiefest    brunt, 
presently  squat  themselves  in  their  bogs.      It  shall  be  my  practice 
in  this  quarrel   to  define  the  same  pleasure  which  you  maintain, 
that,  finding  by  this  where  the  field  is  pitched,  I   may  bring  my 
force  to  your  main  battle.      Pleasure  is  a  sweet  tickling  of  sense, 
with  a  present  joy.      Being  a  tickling  of  the  sense,  you  may  see 
that  to  have  no  disquietness  cannot  be  pleasure  ;  for  stocks  and 
stones  feel  no  trouble  at  all,  yet  I   think  you  will  not  say  that 
they  live  in  pleasure.      To  be  cured  of  anguish  cannot  be  this, 
because  it  is  no  otherwise  than  a  delivery  from  pain.      In  that  it  is 
bred  of  a  present  joy,   it  neither  consisteth   in  remembrance  of 
pleasures  past,  because  they  are  fled  and  cannot  be  felt,  nor  in 
hope  of  any  such  life  to  come,  because  we  taste  them  not  yet,  and 
they  may  be  prevented.      What  pleasure  can  you  find  if,  being  in 
Russia  in  the  middle  of  winter  with  a  needle  in  your  hand,  never 
a  thread  about  you,  you  remember  straight  you  had  clothes  on 
your  back  and  were  warm  enough  in  Venice,  in  the  middle  of 
summer?     What  availeth  it,   if  thirsting  now,  you  call  to  your 
mind  that  you  drunk  yesterday  ;  or  presently  ready  to  famish  for 
hunger,    you   persuade   yourself  there   will   be   corn   in  harvest  ? 
Again,   if  pleasure   be  the  tickling  of  sense  with  a  present  joy, 
what   delight   had    Marius   in   the   surgeon's  knife  ?    Scaevola  in 
torments   of   the    fire?    Curtius   in   the   bosom   of  the    gulf?    or 
Iphigenia  in  the  butcher's  axe  ?     Forsooth,  sir,  say  you,  I.  meant 
that,  for  their  friends'  sakes,  they  conceived  a  pleasure  in   their 
minds  ;  alas,  then,  say  I,  you  must  not  dream  of  chalk  when  you 
speak  of  cheese.      That  which  other  enjoy  belongs  not  to  us,  and 
when  we  are  dead,  the  praise  that  is  given  us  never  comes  to  our 
ears  except  you  assure  yourself  that,  with   Seleus,  our  souls  shall 
forsake  us  a  while  in  a  trance,  and  after  they  have  compassed 


STEPHEN  GOSSON  397 


heaven  to  learn  some  news,  be  blown  into  our  bodies  again 
through  a  squirt.  But  you  trifle  in  this,  let  us  shake  up  our 
kennel  a  little  better. 

Wisdom,  justice,  all  virtues,  all  arts,  all  that  we  do  in  this  life, 
levels,  say  you,  at  nothing  but  pleasure.  Can  you  make  such  a 
hotchpotch  of  vice  and  virtue  that  each  with  the  other  shall  both 
agree  ?  that  contraries  shall  nestle  together  in  one  body,  one  part, 
at  one  instant  ?  The  pleasure  that  is  got  by  virtue  is  an  honest 
delight  of  the  mind,  rejoicing  in  nothing  but  that  which  is  good  ; 
yet  is  it  not  that  which  virtue  seeketh,  for  the  countryman  soweth 
his  grain  to  reap  the  fruit,  though  he  gather  the  flower  that  grows 
up  with  it.  And  we  exercise  virtue  not  for  pleasure's  sake,  but 
to  do  good  ;  refusing  not  the  pleasures  that  spring  up  with  it,  as 
flowers  with  corn,  and  follow  it  continually  as  a  shadow  the  body  ; 
neither  do  they  please  us  because  they  delight,  but  delight  because 
they  please.  Your  lovers,  whensoever  you  frown,  descend  into 
hell  ;  when  you  smile,  are  carried  with  wings  into  heaven  ;  yet 
neither  of  them  both  are  out  of  Venice.  Poets  feign  Jupiter  to 
have  two  barrels  in  heaven — the  one  of  weal,  the  other  of  woe, 
which  he  disperseth  abroad  at  his  pleasure.  If  your  beauty  have 
drawn  Jupiter  from  heaven  in  a  shower  of  rain,  compelling  him 
by  love  to  resign  his  office  unto  you,  that  opening  the  barrels  of 
bliss  and  bale,  you  might  govern  the  lives  of  men  as  you  list, 
torment  and  relieve,  scourge  and  release,  set  up  and  throw  down 
whomsoever  you  will — 

'  O  Goddess  worthy  of  a  God,  and  Juno  of  thy  Jove. " 

These  are  the  frantic  inventions  of  heathen  writers,  which,  if 
they  be  wrought,  will  not  hold  the  hammering.  You  must  not 
think  your  sweet  face  to  make  you  perfect,  nor  believe  whatsoever 
your  suitors  speak.  Because  that  they  say,  they  burn,  will  you 
think  their  bodies  are  set  on  fire  .^  if  they  dream  of  your  hue,  that 
it  is  heavenly,  is  there  no  hoe^  but  you  will  shine  in  your  bright- 
ness among  the  stars  ?  These  are  hyperboles  to  flatter  you,  which 
they  commonly  speak  in  the  midst  of  their  passion,  when  their 
wits  are  a  wool-gathering. 

(From  the  Ephemerides  of  Phialo.) 


398  ENGLISH  PROSE 


THE   PLAYMAKERS'   SOPHISTRIES    EXPOSED 

The  author  of  the  Play  of  Plays,  spreading  out  his  battle  to  hem 
me  in,  is  driven  to  take  so  large  a  compass,  that  his  array  is  the 
thinner,  and  therefore  the  easier,  to  be  broken.  He  tieth  life  and 
delight  so  fast  together,  that  if  delight  be  restrained,  life  presently 
perisheth  ;  there,  zeal  perceiving  delight  to  be  embraced  of  life, 
puts  a  snaffle  in  his  mouth,  to  keep  him  under.  Delight,  being 
bridled,  zeal  leadeth  life  through  a  wilderness  of  loathesomeness, 
where  glut  scareth  them  all,  chasing  both  zeal  and  delight  from 
life,  and  with  the  club  of  amazedness  strikes  such  a  peg  into  the 
head  of  life,  that  he  falls  down  for  dead  upon  the  stage. 

Life  being  thus  faint,  and  overtravailed,  destitute  of  his  guide, 
robbed  of  delight,  is  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  in  the  same 
place.  Then  entereth  recreation,  which,  with  music  and  singing 
rocks  life  asleep  to  recover  his  strength. 

By  this  means  tediousness  is  driven  from  life,  and  the  taint 
is  drawn  out  of  his  head,  which  the  club  of  amazedness  left 
behind. 

At  last  recreation  setteth  up  the  gentleman  upon  his  feet, 
delight  is  restored  to  him  again,  and  such  kind  of  sports  for 
cullises  are  brought  in  to  nourish  him,  as  none  but  delight  must 
apply  to  his  stomach.  Then  time  being  made  for  the  benefit  of 
life,  and  life  being  allowed  to  follow  his  appetite,  amongst  all 
manner  of  pastimes,  life  chooseth  comedies  for  his  delight,  partly 
because  comedies  are  neither  chargeable  to  the  beholder's  purse, 
nor  painful  to  his  body  ;  partly  because  he  may  sit  out  of  the 
rain  to  view  the  same,  when  many  other  pastimes  are  hindered 
by  weather.  Zeal  is  no  more  admitted  to  life  before  he  be  some- 
what pinched  in  the  waist,  to  avoid  extremity,  and  being  not  in 
the  end  simply  called  zeal,  but  moderate  zeal,  a  few  conditions 
are  prescribed  to  comedies,  that  the  matter  be  purged,  deformities 
blazed,  sin  rebuked,  honest  mirth  intermingled,  and  fit  time  for 
the  hearing  of  the  same  appointed.  Moderate  zeal  is  contented 
to  suffer  them,  who  joineth  with  delight  to  direct  life  again,  after 
which  he  triumphs  over  death  and  is  crowned  with  eternity. 
These  bugs  are  fitter  to  fear  babes  than  to  move  men.  Never- 
theless this  is  the  substance  of  that  which  is  brought  for  plays, 
this  is  the  pillar  of  their  credit.      All  other  men  that  subscribe 


STEPHEN  GOSSON  399 


not  this  but  inveigh  against  them,  by  writing  in  books,  or  by 
tongue  in  pulpits,  do  but  crow,  as  he  termeth  it,  and  speak  against 
comedies  for  lack  of  learning.  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Chrysostom,  St. 
Ambrose,  St.  Augustine,  Isodorus,  Tertullian,  fathers  of  the 
Church  most  excellently  learned  ;  councils,  as  the  third  of 
Carthage,  ihe  Synod  of  Laodicea,  and  such  lilce,  that  condemned 
plays,  and  the  skilfuUest  divines  at  this  day  in  England  which  are 
compelled  in  sermons  to  cry  out  against  them,  were  now  to  be 
set  to  the  school  again,  if  the  mouth  of  this  playmaker  were  any 
just  measure  of  their  knowledge.  Sithence  all  their  force  con- 
sisteth  in  this  point  of  life  and  delight,  I  will  take  the  more  pain 
to  overthrow  it,  and  so  conquer  the  rest  without  skirmish,  like  to 
the  Romans  who,  meeting  the  whole  power  of  Carthage  upon  the 
sea,  and  foiling  it  there,  thought  it  superfluous  to  proceed  any 
further,  or  bring  the  ram  to  the  walls,  when  Carthage  was  drowned 
in  the  deep.  And  as  the  Romans  thought  that  after  Carthage 
was  overcome,  no  country  was  ashamed  to  be  subdued,  so  I  trust 
that  when  I  have  beaten  their  captain  to  the  earth,  by  force  of 
argument,  none  of  them  all  will  disdain  to  be  taken,  or  to  cry  out 
with  testimony  of  good  conscience,  great  is  the  truth  and  it  doth 
prevail.  Though  it  please  not  him  to  chstinguish  between  delight 
and  delight,  yet  for  the  better  understanding  both  of  that  which 
is  spoken  in  defence  of  plays,  and  of  that  which  by  me  shall  be 
brought  against  them,  you  must  consider  that  there  are  two  sorts 
of  delight,  the  one  belonging  to  the  body,  the  other  to  the  mind 
— that  is  carnal,  this,  spiritual.  Carnal  delight  is  the  rest  of 
sensual  appetite  in  the  thing  desired  when  it  is  felt.  If  this  be 
not  governed  by  the  rule  of  God's  Word,  we  are  presently  carted 
beyond  ourselves,  therefore  ought  we  to  follow  the  counsel  of 
St.  Paul,  which  exhorteth  us  earnestly  to  suppress  the  same. 
Spiritual  delight  is  the  operation  of  virtue  consisting  in  a  medita- 
tion of  the  life  to  come  purchased  to  us  by  the  blood  of  Christ, 
and  revealed  for  our  comfort  in  the  Word  of  God.  A  notable 
blessing  is  pronounced  on  him  whose  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the 
Lord,  and  the  prophet  himself  voweth  solemnly  to  God,  that  he 
will  talk  of  his  commandments,  walk  in  his  ways,  and  delight  in 
his  statutes.  By  the  whole  discourse  it  may  be  gathered  that 
the  delight  belonging  to  the  body,  is  it,  which  this  j^entleman 
requireth  as  physic  against  the  troubles  and  vexations  of  this  life, 
which  bewrayeth  him  to  be  soused  in  that  error,  that  Aristotle 
reproveth  in  his  Ethics.      For  if  the  delight  of  this  life  be  to  be 


400  ENGLISH  PROSE 


sought  as  a  remedy  against  the  sorrows  of  the  same,  excess  of 
delight  must  be  granted  to  excess  of  sorrow,  as  excess  of  thirst 
requireth  excess  of  drink  ;  excess  of  hunger,  excess  of  meat ; 
excess  of  grief,  excess  of  pleasure  :  but  excess  of  delight  in  this 
life  is  not  to  be  sought,  for  fear  of  surfeit  ;  therefore  to  cure  the 
anguish  of  this  life  with  such  kind  of  pleasures  as  life  pursues,  is 
to  measure  the  remedy  by  our  own  appetite,  which  indeed  is 
nothing  else  but  either  to  receive  that  that  our  sick  stomach 
desireth,  when  it  cannot  judge  ;  as  to  eat  chalk  in  the  green  sick- 
ness ;  in  an  ague,  pilchards  ;  or  as  they  that  in  some  kind  of 
leprosy  drink  poison,  which  is  altogether  hurtful  to  good  com- 
plexions, yet  worketh  it  accidentally  some  ease  in  them.  Being 
once  shipped  in  this  part  of  philosophy,  he  is  carried  too  far 
beyond  his  skill. 

(From  Plays  confuted.') 


SIR    PHILIP  SIDNEY 


[Sir  Philip  Sidney,  born  at  Penshurst  on  29th  November  1554,  was  the 
son  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  subsequently  Lord  Deputy  in  Ireland,  and  of  his 
wife  Mary,  eldest  daughter  of  the  ill-fated  Duke  of  Northumberland.  He 
was  educated  at  Shrewsbury  and  Christ  Church,  but  left  Oxford  very  young, 
in  order  to  travel  abroad.  At  the  time  of  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
he  was  an  inmate  of  Walsingham's  house  at  Paris.  Of  his  travels,  which 
extended  to  Germany,  Italy,  and  other  European  countries,  and  occupied 
something  like  four  years,  the  most  interesting  memorial  is  his  Latin  corre- 
spondence with  his  companion  during  part  of  them,  the  celebrated  Huguenot 
Hubert  Languet.  In  1576-7  he  was  again  abroad,  on  a  mission  of  ceremony 
to  the  Emperor  Rudolf  II.  His  withdrawal  to  Penshurst  in  the  summer  of 
1580,  which  enabled  him  to  write  both  The  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Arcadia 
(in  his  sister's  honour),  and  The  Defence  of  Poesy,  must  have  been  in  some 
measure  due  to  the  very  open  part  he  had  taken  in  opposing  the  marriage- 
project  between  Queen  Elizabeth  and  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  But  on  the  renewal 
of  negotiations  to  this  end  in  1581  Sidney  was  conspicuous  in  doing  honour  to 
the  French  Embassy  ;  and  in  the  following  year  he  was  knighted  by  the  Queen. 
She  is  said  to  have  afterwards  prevented  his  joining  Drake  in  an  American 
expedition,  and  to  have  interfered  against  his  being  offered  the  Polish  Crown. 
But,  not  less  fatally,  she  in  1585  appointed  him  Governorof  the  cautionary  town  of 
Flushing.  During  the  siege  of  Zutphen,  having  volunteered  his  aid  to  an  attempt 
at  intercepting  a  Spanish  convoy,  he  was  mortally  wounded,  and  died  17th 
October  1586.  Sidney  in  1583  married  a  daughter  of  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  ; 
the  Stella  of  his  verse  was  Penelope  Devereu.x,  married  in  1581  to  Lord  Rich.] 

The  inevitable  application  to  Sidney  of  the  phrase,  "  the 
Marcellus  of  English  literature,"  is  misleading,  if  not  altogether 
meaningless.  When  his  noble  life  had  been  sacrificed  to  the 
attractions  of  a  futile  i:oup  de  Ba/ac/ai'a,  he  was  mourned  at  home 
in  England,  not  only  for  what  had  been  hoped  from  him,  but  for 
what  he  had  already  achieved.  Still,  it  would  be  idle  to  deny  that 
never  has  gallant  warrior,  true  knight,  or  illustrious  writer,  been 
more  fortunate  than  he  in  the  opportunity  of  his  death.  To  begin 
with,  mutual  sympathies  were  as  yet  stronger  than  antipathies  in 

VOL.  I  401  2D 


402  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  small  but  expanding  world  of  English  literature  ;  and  thus, 
although  the  Queen  herself  had  honoured  the  good  courtier  she 
had  lost,  although  English  nobles  were  his  pall-bearers,  while  his 
loss  was  lamented  by  the  Seven  Provinces  which  he  had  helped  to 
protect,  and  acknowledged  even  by  the  archfoe  whose  name  he 
bore,  he  had  no  mourners  more  justly  in  earnest  than  the  scholars 
and  poets  that  claimed  him  as  one  of  themselves.  For  the  soldier 
who  had  fallen  on  the  field  of  honour,  the  statesman  whom  his  own 
Sovereign  had  trusted  and  whom  the  Republic  of  a  foreign  kingdom 
had  summoned  to  its  throne, — he  too  had  been  a  citizen  of  that 
Arcadia  where  Imagination  holds  supreme  sway  ;  he  too  had  not 
only  taken  joy  in  that  Art  of  Poesy  for  which  he  had  entered  the 
lists,  but  had  as  a  true  student  found  in  it  compensation  for  the 
disappointments  of  life  and  love. 

But  if  Sidney's  death  thus  fitly  called  forth  the  tears  of  the 
Muses  and  of  their  professed  votaries,  among  them  of  the  poet 
whose  praise  was  in  itself  a  pledge  of  literary  immortality,  neither 
should  its  coincidence  with  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  in  our 
literary  as  well  as  our  political  history  be  overlooked.  The  year 
following  on  that  of  Sidney's  death  ended  the  tragedy  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  ;  its  successor  in  turn  witnessed  the  catastrophe  of 
the  Spanish  Armada.  During  these  few  years  Spenser  was  al- 
ready at  work  upon  his  masterpiece  ;  in  their  course  were  published 
the  first  productions  of  nearly  all  his  chief  contemporaries  among 
our  epic  and  lyric  poets  ;  and  to  the  same  wonderful  years 
belong  the  earlier  plays  of  the  most  prominent  among  the 
immediate  predecessors  or  older  contemporaries  of  Shakespeare. 
How  then  could  it  have  been  otherwise  than  that  the  sudden 
extinction  at  such  an  epoch  of  a  light  which  had  shone  forth 
with  so  brilliant  a  promise,  should  be  lamented  in  strains  appro- 
priate to  a  truly  national  loss  ? 

Yet,  apart  from  all  adventitious  circumstances  of  date,  who 
shall  deny  that  in  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  a  fit  "pride  of  shepherds' 
praise  "  was  lost  to  the  vocal  Arcady  around  him  ?  Concerning 
his  verse  it  must  suffice  to  say  that  the  lyrical  form  introduced 
into  English  poetry  by  Surrey,  and  domesticated  in  it  by  Sidney 
and  Spenser,  would  hardly  have  made  so  speedy  and  so  sure  a 
settlement  but  for  the  fact  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
scorned  to  pour  his  own  golden  soul  into  the  alien  literary  mould. 

Nor  was  it  far  otherwise  with  the  more  imposing  of  the  two  prose 
works  which,  even  more  decisively  than  Astrophel  and  Stella,  have 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  403 

secured  to  their  author  the  unchallengeable  rank  of  a  national 
.  classic.  The  Coufitess  of  Pc)n/)?-okc's  Arcadia,  written  by  Sidney 
at  his  sister's  house  as  a  rough  draft  for  her  diversion,  some  time  in 
the  years  i  580  and  i  581,  although  not  printed  till  after  his  death 
in  1590,  forms,  of  course,  a  mere  link  in  the  connected  chain  of 
modern  pastoral  literature.  That  chain  may,  without  injustice  to 
Politian,  be  said  to  begin  with  Sannazaro's  Arcadia  (1502),  and 
to  reach  down  through  a  series  of  successors  to  and  beyond  the 
name-sake  works  of  Sidney  and  Lope  de  Vega.  In  their  most 
salient  features  all  these  productions  resemble  one  another.  They 
seek  alike  to  give  prominence  to  those  emotions  which  humanise 
and  soften  life  in  the  midst  of  the  very  conflicts  and  troubles 
provided  in  part  by  themselves,  and  thus  their  effect  is  to  exalt 
friendship  and  love,  but  the  latter  most  conspicuously,  as  absorbing 
the  sentiments  of  the  personages  within  their  range,  together  with 
most  of  the  life  they  lead  and  of  the  time  they  kill.  Hence 
the  sameness  and  monotony  characteristic  of  modern  in  a  far 
greater  measure  than  of  ancient  pastoral.  Conversely,  modern 
pastoral  almost  imperceptibly  substituted  its  own  ineffable  arti- 
ficiality of  style  for  the  iraiveie  (conscious  only  to  the  extent 
in  which  the  play  of  children  is  such)  of  the  Sicilian  Muses. 
Vergil  is  as  simple  and  natural  as  it  is  possible  for  an  imitator  to 
remain.  In  Sannazaro  there  lingers  at  least  the  pretence  of  a 
rustic  tone  ;  in  Tasso  and  Guarini  simplicity  has  become  delicacy  ; 
the  Spaniards  refine  upon  the  Italians,  and  in  Sidney  the  pastoral 
dress  has  become  a  mere  accepted  costume.  Indeed  his  shepherds 
are  in  the  main  confessedly  nothing-  more  than  courtiers  in  retreat 
— "princely  shepherds,"  as  he  calls  them — in  their  way  hardly 
less  conventional  than  their  latest  Louis  (Juiiise  successors.  With 
the  conventionalities  of  scenery  and  costume  those  of  incident 
and  character  become  permanently  associated  ;  we  recognise  as 
inevitable  the  disconsolate  shepherd,  the  coy  shepherdess,  and  the 
clown  whose  feats  and  feelings  burlesque  those  of  his  superiors, 
although  he  "  will  stumble  sometimes  upon  some  songs  that  might 
become  a  better  brain."  Nor  are  we  spared  well-known  stage 
Aricks  for  setting  off  the  stage  figures,  above  all  the  familiar  device 
of  Echo  repeating  in  moans  and  in  puns  the  final  syllables  of  lines 
of  verse  uttered  among  the  rocks  or  trees. 

If  in  these  respects  Sidney's  Arcadia  must  perforce  be  pro- 
nounced the  reverse  of  original,  neither  is  it  possible  to  ignore 
the  Euphuistic  element  in  the  style  of  the  book,  or  the  degree 


404  ENGLISH  PROSE 


in  which  its  initial  success  was  due  to  this  particular  cause. 
Eupkues,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  appeared  in  1579,  only 
a  year  before  Sir  Philip  Sidney  temporarily  withdrew  from  the 
Court  where  no  figure  had  shone  more  conspicuously  than  his 
own  ;  and  the  Arcadia,  though  not  printed  till  eleven  years  after- 
wards, was  written  under  the  influence  of  an  extremely  fashionable 
and  easily  imitable  model.  Probably  what  seemed  choicest 
in  the  style  of  Sidney's  work  to  its  early  admirers  was  what 
most  closely  resembled  Euphues.  "  Oh,"  cries  Master  Fastidious 
Brisk  in  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  when  eulogising  the 
"harmonious  and  musical  strain  of  wit"  in  a  great  lady, 
"  it  flows  from  her  like  nectar  ...  as  I  am  an  honest  man, 
would  I  might  never  stir,  sir,  but  she  does  observe  as  pure  a 
phrase,  and  use  as  choice  figures  in  her  ordinary  conferences, 
as  may  be  in  the  Arcadia."  And  in  the  same  play  Fungoso, 
who  "follows  the  fashion  afar  ofif,  like  a  spy,"  says  that,  while 
waiting  for  his  new  suit  of  clothes,  he  will  "  sit  in  his  old  suit, 
or  else  lie  a-bed,  and  read  the  Arcadia."  Of  the  significant 
characteristics  of  Euphuism  hardly  one,  unless  it  be  a  certain 
monotony  of  cadence  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  superior 
versatility  of  Sidney's  literary  genius,  is  altogether  missing  in 
his  book.  Although  he  is  expressly  praised  by  Drayton  for  dis- 
burdening our  tongue  of  Lyly's  favourite  similes  from  natural 
history,  or  supposed  natural  history,  yet  "  this  word.  Lover, 
did  no  less  pierce  poor  Pyrocles,  than  the  right  tune  of  music 
toucheth  him  that  is  sick  of  the  Taraniula "  ;  and  the  Forsaken 
Knight  bears  as  his  impresa,  or  device,  "a  Catoblepas,  which  so 
long  lies  dead  as  the  moon,  whereto  it  hath  so  natural  a  sympathy, 
wants  her  hght."  Nor  was  the  author  of  the  Arcadia  proof 
against  the  seduction  of  mere  tricks  of  sound,  quite  apart  from 
the  metrical  experiments  which  furnish  so  moderate  an  enjoy- 
ment to  his  latter-day  readers,  and  which  need  not  be  discussed 
here.  Above  all,  full  play  is  allowed  to  his  intolerable  fond- 
ness for  puns,  which  a  famous  American  historian  calls  "  the 
only  blemish  in  his  character";  on  the  very  first  page  of  the 
romance,  the  very  first  Arcadian  having  used  the  adverb  last 
regrets  "that  the  word  last  should  so  long  last.''''  Nor  can  it 
be  denied  that  notwithstanding  the  coherency  and  consequent 
interest  as  narratives  of  some  of  the  interwoven  episodes,  such 
as  that  borrowed  by  Shakespeare  for  King  Lear,  the  Arcadia  in 
the  general  texture  of  its  argument  marks  no  material  advance 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNE  Y  40S 

from  the  point  of  view  of  construction  upon  Euphues  and  its 
direct  progeny  of  love-pamphlets. 

But  although  as  late  as  the  days  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Monastery, 
the  conception  of  "  perfect  Arcadia  "  as  a  kind  of  diction  cherished 
by  the  "precious,"  necessarily  included  an  unmistakeable  ad- 
mixture of  affectation,  and  although  this  affectation  was  mainly 
imitative,  yet  Sidney  was,  to  begin  with,  as  he  says  in  one  of 
the  most  charming  of  his  Sonnets, 

"  No  pick-purse  of  another's  wit ;  " 

Nor  indeed  is  this,  unless  at  a  very  early  stage  of  their  literary 
lives,  a  common  crime  with  those  who  can  boast  so  splendid  an 
endowment  of  their  own.  If  his  Arcadia  remains  to  this  day  inter- 
esting,—an  epithet  which  few  members  of  the  public  that  reads  to 
please  itself,  would  be  likely  to  apply  to  Lyly's  Euphues, — the  reason 
is  not  far  to  seek.  After  all,  the  Arcadia  is  self-confessedly  a 
romance  of  chivalry  in  the  approved  pastoral  form  ;  and  as  such 
it  is  animated  with  vivifying  power  by  the  spirit  of  Sir  Calidore. 
This  spirit  is  recognisable  in  the  martial  and  often  very  sanguinary 
adventures  which  form  part  of  the  main  argument,  dim  and 
discursive  though  this  latter  must  be  allowed  to  be,  albeit  used 
by  one  most  capable  dramatist  (Shirley)  as  the  plot  of  one  of  his 
plays.  It  shows  itself  in  the  love  of  manly  exercises  and 
diversions,  of  games  and  bouts  of  all  kinds,  and  in  the  minute 
interest  in  the  qualities  and  points  of  horses  and  hounds,  to 
which  divers  passages  of  the  Arcadia  bear  witness.  It  displays 
itself  not  less  in  a  sincere  enjoyment  of  well-ordered  pomp  and 
magnificence,  of  tournaments  and  pageants,  of  brave  habiliments 
and  gorgeous  drapery.  Above  all  it  finds  expression  in  a  passionate 
devotion  to  the  service  of  fair  women,  and  an  ecstatic  enthusiasm 
in  the  detailed  extolling  of  their  charms.  Philoclea  is  but 
another  name  for  "Stella  ever  dear";  Pamela,  if  she  represents 
any  actual  woman,  typifies  a  more  august,  and  a  more  self- 
restrained,  mistress.  Nor  is  it,  in  this  connexion,  to  be  overlooked 
that  in  addition  to  the  desire  for  chivalrous  action,  whereby,  as 
Musidorus  says,  man  "  not  only  betters  himself  but  benefits  others," 
and  to  the  tenderness  which  filled  Sidney's  soul,  the  Arcadia  reflects 
something  of  the  national  political  sentiment  of  which  its  author 
was  in  so  many  ways  a  typical  representative.  This  more  than 
anything,  except  certain  descriptive  passages  to  which  in  the 
Arcadia^  as  in  the  Faerie  Queen^  our  native  English  scenery  may 


4o6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


prefer  an  exclusive  claim,  makes  Sidney's  work  distinctively 
English,  and  connects  it  organically  with  the  great  national  age 
to  which  it  belonged.  St.  Marc-Girardin  has  pointed  out 
political  touches,  which  are  at  the  same  time  delicate  flatteries, 
and  which,  as  he  says,  denote  the  courtier.  But  although  we  may 
smile  to  find  that  the  virtues  and  the  beauties  of  Urania  (Elizabeth) 
— in  Euphuistic  phrase  her  "  sweetest  fairness  and  fairest  sweet- 
ness " — cannot  be  kept  even  out  of  Arcadia,  yet  we  remember 
that  the  courtier  who  ushers  them  in  is  the  good  courtier  of 
Spenser's  beautiful  adaptation  ;  and  that  to  him  his  sovereign  is 
the  incarnation  of  the  purposes  for  which  in  camp  and  court  life 
is  worth  living. 

The  style  of  such  a  writer  can  hardly  lack  individuality  ;  and 
in  Sidney's  prose  this  master-quality  has  no  difficulty  in  asserting 
itself  in  the  face  of  more  or  less  adventitious  influences.  Thus  the 
Euphuism  of  the  Arcadia,  though  here  and  there  marked  enough, 
cannot  be  described  as  a  quality  of  the  style  of  the  book  at  large  ; 
as  such,  its  place  is  taken  by  something  new  and  individual, 
although  perhaps  something  not  very  easy  to  define.  In  a  cele- 
brated passage  extracted  below,  Philoclea  is  described  as  "so 
humble,  that  she  would  put  all  pride  out  of  countenance."  A  page 
or  two  later,  the  high-minded  Philanax  from  his  sick-bed  demands 
of  his  master,  discouraged  by  an  oracle,  why  he  should  "  deprive 
himself  of  government,  for  fear  of  losing  his  government,  like 
one  that  should  kill  himself  for  fear  of  death."  In  such  passages 
as  these,  and  in  .many  more  of  the  same  kind,  the  antithesis  no 
longer  owes  much  of  its  effect  to  sound  or  cadence  ;  and  the 
point  of  their  wit  goes  home  the  more  truly,  because  it  has  been 
dipped  in  moral  sentiment.  Moreover,  the  eff'ort  is  not,  as  in  the 
master,  painfully  elaborated  ;  playful  touches  of  convincing  simplicity 
are  not  uncommon,  such  as  "  No  is  no  negative  in  a  woman's 
mouth  "  ;  elsewhere  the  author  knows  how  to  stop  short,  with  his 
Pyrocles,  "like  a  man  unsatisfied  in  himself,  though  his  wit 
might  well  have  served  to  satisfy  another." 

Much  more  might  be  said  concerning  the  style  of  the  Arcadia, 
of  which  there  is  no  reason  for  assuming  that  Sidney  would  have 
refused,  had  occasion  offered,  to  lop  many  of  the  extravagances. 
Of  these  there  is  beyond  doubt  too  luxuriant  an  underwood,  but 
not  enough  to  choke  the  nobler  growths,  or  to  hide  the  play  of 
the  sunlight  between  them.  If  Sidney's  humour  in  the  Arcadia 
must  on   the  whole   be  called  conventional,  while   his  pathos  is 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNE  Y  407 

not  economised,  as  pathos  should  be  if  it  is  to  become  effective, 
he  on  the  other  hand  constantly  shows  (the  distinction  will  be 
obvious)  a  feeling  which  proves  him  an  artist  of  a  very  high 
order.  His  descriptive  touches,  often  conveyed  in  exquisite 
figures — night  stretching  forth  her  black  arms  to  part  combatants ; 
a  maiden's  checks  blushing  "and  withal,  when  she  was  spoken 
unto,  a  little  smiling,  like  roses,  when  their  leaves  are  with  a 
little  breath  stirred " — added  a  fresh  charm  to  English  prose, 
and  one  which  over-matched  the  more  pretentious  efforts  in  the 
same  direction  of  earlier  Elizabethan  verse.  Nor  are  such 
spontaneous  beauties  out  of  keeping  with  frequent  bursts  of 
a  noble  rhetoric,  the  result,  may  be,  of  conscious  training,  but  not 
the  dictation  of  another  man's  mind,  and  at  times  consecrated, 
as  in  one  of  the  extracts  given  below,  to  the  loftiest  of  themes. 
Thus  the  freshness,  the  flexibility,  the  essential  originality  and 
intrinsic  nobility  of  Sidney's  genius  reflect  themselves  in  the 
style  of  the  most  notable  prose-work,  taken  as  a  whole,  of  an  era 
without  parallel  in  our  literature. 

The  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Arcadia  resembles  a  beautiful 
and  elaborate  headgear  such  as  Sidney's  sister  might  have 
worn  at  Court  while  witnessing  his  prowess  at  the  barriers — a 
product  of  nature  interspersed  with  a  hundred  quaint  artifices  of 
wreaths  and  bugles  and  ouches  and  rings.  The  Defence  of  Poesy, 
which  he  wrote  about  the  same  time  as  the  longer  work,  or  but 
little  later,  is  like  a  single  gem  in  a  simple  but  exquisitely 
appropriate  setting  of  its  own.  The  introduction,  with  Attic 
lightness  and  gracefulness,  enables  the  author  without  effort  or 
flourish  to  enter  upon  his  theme,  the  defence  of  his  favourite 
art — "having,  I  know  not  by  what  mischance,  in  these  my 
old  years  and  ildlest  times,  slipped  into  the  title  of  a  poet."  The 
subject  is  treated  with  both  fulness  and  thoroughness,  no  care 
being  spared  in  definition  and  classification  ;  but  even  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  essay  we  are  inspirited  as  we  touch  the  hand 
of  '  our  eager  guide  by  the  contagion  of  his  own  generous 
enthusiasm.  More  especially  in  his  review  of  the  different  kinds 
or  species  of  poetry  are  to  be  found  passages  of  inimitable  fresh- 
ness as  well  as  aptitude,  among  them,  the  famous  figure  as  to 
the  effect  of  "  the  old  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas  "  ;  although,  to 
tell  the  truth,  it  is  rather  disappointing  to  be  asked  directly  after- 
wards, what  this  lyric  would  work,  were  it  "  trimmed  in  the 
gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindar." 


4o8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Naturally  our  poet-critic  moves  with  greater  freedom  as  he 
proceeds  to  refute  the  cavils  of  the  /Auro/xoucrot,  and  permits  him- 
self in  the  interests  of  the  dignity  of  his  art,  to  digress  into  a 
lively  and  combative  little  diatribe  on  the  stage-plays  of  his 
day.  Yet  nowhere  is  he  so  perfectly  felicitous  as  in  his 
peroration,  where  he  has  very  skilfully  allowed  a  wave  of 
humour  to  mingle  in  the  current  of  his  eloquence,  and  parts 
from  his  reader  with  the  courteous  and  pleasant  tone  in  which 
the  essay  opened. 

Thus  the  Defence  of  Poesy  is  not  only  typical  of  a  species  of 
critical  essays  which  were  soon  to  become  common  in  our 
literature,  and  which  of  course  are  as  significant  of  the  tastes 
of  the  public  as  of  those  of  their  writers.  It  is  likewise  typical, 
in  choice  of  subject  and  in  style,  of  the  idiosyncrasy  of  its  author, 
so  modest  in  his  self-estimate,  so  generous  in  his  judgment  of 
others  ;  so  bent  upon  fancies  pure  and  noble,  and  yet  in  the 
utterance  of  them  so  pleasantly  abounding  in  the  humour  proper 

to  gentle  minds. 

A.  W.  Ward. 


THE  KING  OF  ARCADIA  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER 

Here  dwelleth  and  reigneth  this  prince  whose  picture  you  see,  by 
name  BasiHus  ;  a  prince  of  sufficient  skill  to  govern  so  quiet  a 
country,  where  the  good  minds  of  the  former  princes  had  set  down 
good  laws,  and  the  well-bringing-up  of  the  people  doth  serve  as  a 
most  sure  bond  to  hold  them.  He,  being  already  well-stricken  in 
years,  married  a  young  princess,  named  Gynecia,  daughter  to  the 
king  of  Cyprus,  of  notable  beauty,  as  by  her  picture  you  see  ;  a 
woman  of  great  wit,  and  in  truth  of  more  princely  virtues  than 
her  husband  ;  of  most  unspotted  chastity,  but  of  so  working  a 
mind  and  so  vehement  spirits,  as  a  man  may  say  it  was  happy 
she  took  a  good  course,  for  otherwise  it  would  have  been  terrible. 
Of  these  two  are  brought  to  the  world  two  daughters,  so 
beyond  measure  excellent  in  all  the  gifts  allotted  to  reasonable 
creatures,  that  we  may  think  they  were  born  to  show  that  Nature 
is  no  stepmother  to  that  sex,  how  much  soever  some  men,  sharp- 
witted  only  in  evil-speaking,  have  sought  to  disgrace  them.  The 
elder  is  named  Pamela,  by  many  men  not  deemed  inferior  to  her 
sister.  For  my  part,  when  I  marked  them  both,  methought  there 
was  (if  at  least  such  perfection  may  receive  the  word  of  more) 
more  sweetness  in  Philoclea,  but  more  majesty  in  Pamela  ;  me- 
thought love  played  in  Philoclea's  eyes  and  threatened  in  Pamela's ; 
methought  Philoclea's  beauty  only  persuaded,  but  so  persuaded  as 
all  hearts  must  yield  ;  Pamela's  beauty  used  violence,  and  such 
violence  as  no  heart  could  resist.  And  it  seems  that  such  pro- 
portion is  between  their  minds  :  Philoclea,  so  bashful  as  though 
her  excellences  had  stolen  into  her  before  she  was  aware  ;  so 
humble  that  she  will  put  all  pride  out  of  countenance  ;  in  sum, 
such  proceedings  as  will  stir  hope,  but  teach  hope  good  manners  ; 
— Pamela,  of  high  thoughts,  who  avoids  not  pride  with  not  know- 
ing her  excellences,  but  by  making  that  one  of  her  excellences 
to  be  void  of  pride  ;  her  mother's  wisdom,  greatness,  nobility,  but 
(if  I  can  guess  aright)  knit  with  a  more  constant  temper. 

409 


4IO  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Now,  then,  our  Basilius  being  so  publicly  happy  as  to  be  a 
prince,  and  so  happy  in-  that  happiness  as  to  be  a  beloved  prince, 
and  so  in  his  private  estate  blessed  as  to  have  so  excellent  a  wife, 
and  so  over-excellent  children,  hath  of  late  taken  a  course  which 
yet  makes  ,  him  more  spoken  of  than  all  these  blessings.  For, 
having  made  a  journey  to  Delphos,  and  safely  returned,  within 
short  space  he  brake  up  his  court  and  retired  himself,  his  wife  and 
children,  into  a  certain  forest  hereby,  which  he  calleth  his  desert  ; 
wherein,  besides  an  house  appointed  for  stables,  and  lodgings  for 
certain  persons  of  mean  calling,  who  do  all  household  services,  he 
hath  builded  two  fine  lodges  ;  in  the  one  of  them  himself  remains 
with  his  younger  daughter  Philoclea  (which  was  the  cause  they 
three  were  matched  together  in  this  picture),  without  having  any 
other  creature  living  in  that  lodge  with  him. 

(From  The  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Arcadia,  Book  I.) 


HORSEMANSHIP 

A  FEW  days  since,  he  and  Dametas  had  furnished  themselves  very 
richly  to  run  at  the  ring  before  me.  Oh,  how  mad  a  sight  it  was 
to  see  Dametas,  like  rich  tissue  furred  with  lambs'-skins  !  But, 
oh,  how  well  it  did  with  Dorus — to  see  with  what  a  grace  he  pre- 
sented himself  before  me  on  horse-back,  making  majesty  wait  upon 
humbleness  ;  how,  at  the  first,  standing  still  with  his  eyes  bent 
upon  me,  as  though  his  motions  were  chained  to  my  look,  he  so 
stayed  till  I  caused  Mopsa  bid  him  do  something  upon  his  horse, 
which  no  sooner  said  but,  with  a  kind  rather  of  quick  gesture  than 
show  of  violence,  you  might  see  him  come  towards  me,  beating 
the  ground  in  so  due  time  as  no  dancer  can  observe  better  measure. 
If  you  remember  the  ship  we  saw  once  when  the  sea  went  high 
upon  the  coast  of  Argos :  so  went  the  beast.  But  he,  as  if, 
centaur-like,  he  had  been  one  piece  with  the  horse,  was  no  more 
moved  than  one  with  the  going  of  his  own  legs,  and  in  effect 
so  did  he  command  him  as  his  own  limbs  ;  for  though  he  had 
both  spurs  and  wand,  they  seemed  rather  marks  of  sovereignty 
than  instruments  of  punishment ;  his  hand  and  leg,  with  most 
pleasing  grace,  commanding  without  threatening,  and  rather 
remembering  than  chastising  ;  at  least,  if  sometimes  he  did,  it 
was  so  stolen  as  neither  our  eyes  could  discern  it  nor  the  horse 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  411 

with  any  change  did  complain  of  it,  he  ever  going  so  just  with  the 
horse,  either  forthright  or  turning,  that  it  seemed,  as  he  borrowed 
the  horse's  body,  so  he  lent  the  horse  his  mind.  In  the  turning, 
one  might  perceive  the  bridle-hand  something  gently  stir  ;  but, 
indeed,  so  gently  as  it  did  rather  distil  virtue  than  use  violence. 
Himself,  which  methinks  is  strange,  showing  at  one  instance  both 
steadiness  and  nimbleness  ;  sometimes  making  him  turn  close  to 
the  ground,  like  a  cat  when  scratchingly  she  wheels  about  after  a 
mouse,  sometimes  with  a  little  more  rising  before  ;  now  like  a 
raven,  leaping  from  ridge  to  ridge,  then  like  one  of  Dametas' 
kids,  bound  over  the  hillocks  ;  and  all  so  done  as  neither  the 
lusty  kind  showed  any  roughness,  nor  the  easier  any  idleness,  but 
still  like  a  well-obeyed  master,  whose  beck  is  enough  for  a  dis- 
cipline, ever  concluding  each  thing  he  did  with  his  face  to  me- 
wards,  as  if  thence  came  not  only  the  beginning  but  ending  of  his 
motions.  The  sport  was  to  see  Dametas,  how  he  was  tossed 
from  the  saddle  to  the  mane  of  the  horse,  and  thence  to  the 
ground,  giving  his  gay  apparel  almost  as  foul  an  outside  as  it  had 
laeen  an  inside.  But,  as  before  he  had  ever  said  he  wanted  but 
horse  and  apparel  to  be  as  brave  a  courtier  as  the  best,  so  now, 
bruised  with  proof,  he  proclaimed  it  a  folly  for  a  man  of  wisdom 
to  put  himself  under  the  tuition  of  a  beast  ;  so  as  Dorus  was  fain 
alone  to  take  the  ring  ;  wherein  truly  at  least  my  womanish  eyes 
could  not  discern  but  that  taking  his  staff  from  his  thigh,  the 
descending  it  a  little  down,  the  getting  of  it  up  into  the  rest,  the 
letting  of  the  point  fall,  and  taking  the  ring,  was  but  all  one 
motion  ;  at  least,  if  they  were  divers  motions,  they  did  so  steal- 
ingly  slip  one  into  another  as  the  latter  part  was  ever  in  hand 
before  the  eye  could  discern  the  former  was  ended.  Indeed, 
Dametas  found  fault  that  he  showed  no  more  strength  in  shaking 
of  his  staff,  but  to  my  conceit  the  fine  cleanness  of  bearing  it  was 

exceeding  delightful 

One  time  he  danced  the  matachin  dance  in  armour — oh,  with 
what  a  graceful  dexterity  ! — I  think  to  make  me  see  that  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  such  exercises.  Another  time  he  persuaded 
his  master,  to  make  my  time  seem  shorter,  in  manner  of  a 
dialogue,  to  play  Priamus,  while  he  played  Paris.  Think,  sweet 
Philoclea,  what  a  Priamus  we  had  ;  but  truly,  my  Paris  was  a 
Paris,  and  more  than  a  Paris  :  who,  while  in  a  savage  apparel  he 
made  love  to  (Enone,  you  might  well  see  by  his  changed  counten- 
ance and  cruel  tears  that  he  felt  the  part  he  played.      Tell  me, 


412  ENGLISH  PROSE 


sweet  Philoclea,  did  you  ever  see  such  a  shepherd  ?  Tell  me, 
did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  prince  ?  And  then  tell  me  if  a 
small  or  unworthy  assault  have  conquered  me. 

(From  the  Same,  Book  II.) 


THE  ESQUIRE'S   DEATH 

CODRUS,  Ctesiphon,  and  Milo  lost  their  lives  upon  Philanax's 
sword.  But  nobody's  case  was  more  pitied  than  of  a  young 
squire  of  Amphialus,  called  Ismenus,  who  never  abandoning  his 
master,  and  making  his  tender  age  aspire  to  acts  of  the  strongest 
manhood,  in  this  time  that  his  side  was  put  to  the  worst,  and  that 
Amphialus'  valour  was  the  only  stay  of  them  from  delivering 
themselves  over  to  a  most  shameful  flight,  he  saw  his  master's 
horse  killed  under  him  ;  whereupon,  asking  advice  of  no  other 
thought  but  of  faithfulness  and  courage,  he  presently  lighted  from 
his  own  horse,  and,  with  the  help  of  some  choice  and  faithful 
servants,  gat  his  master  up.  But  in  the  multitude  that  came  of 
either  side,  some  to  succour,  some  to  save  Amphialus,  he  came 
under  the  hand  of  Philanax,  and  the  youth,  perceiving  he  was  the 
man  that  did  most  hurt  to  his  party,  desirous  even  to  change  his 
life  for  glory,  strake  at  him  as  he  rode  by  him,  and  gave  him  a 
hurt  upon  the  leg  that  made  Philanax  turn  towards  him  ;  but  see- 
ing him  so  young,  and  of  a  most  lovely  presence,  he  rather  took 
pity  of  hinv,  meaning  to  take  him  prisoner,  and  then  to  give  him 
to  his  brother  Agenor  to  be  his  companion,  because  they  were  not 
much  unlike,  neither  in  years  nor  countenance.  But  as  he  looked 
down  upon  him  with  that  thought,  he  espied  where  his  brother  lay 
dead,  and  his  friend  Leontius  by  him,  even  almost  under  the 
squire's  feet.  Then,  sorrowing  not  only  his  own  sorrow,  but  the 
past-comfort  sorrow  which  he  foreknew  his  mother  would  take, 
who,  with  many  tears  and  misgiving  sighs,  had  suffered  him  to  go 
with  his  elder  brother  Philanax,  blotted  out  all  figures  of  pity  out 
of  his  mind,  and  putting  forth  his  horse  while  Ismenus  doubled 
two  or  three  more  valiant  than  well-set  blows,  saying  to  himself, 
"  Let  other  mothers  bewail  an  untimely  death  as  well  as  mine," 
he  thrust  him  through,  and  the  boy,  fierce  though  beautiful,  and 
beautiful  though  dyin;^  not  able  to  keep  his  falling  feet,  fell  down 
to  the  earth,  which  he  bit  for  anger,  repining  at  his  fortune,  and 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNE  Y  413 


as  long  as  he  could  resisting  death,  which  might  seem  unwilUng 
too,  so  long  he  was  in  taking  away  his  young  struggling  soul. 

Philanax  himself  could  have  wished  the  blow  ungiven  when  he 
saw  him  fall  like  a  fair  apple,  which  some  uncourteous  body, 
breaking  his  bough,  should  throw  down  before  it  were  ripe. 

(From  the  Same,  Book  III.) 


PAMELA'S   FAITH 

She  would  have  spoken  further,  to  have  enlarged  and  confirmed 
her  discourse,  when  Pamela,  whose  cheeks  were  dyed  in  the 
beautifullest  grain  of  virtuous  anger,  with  eyes  which  glistered 
forth  beams  of  disdain,  thus  interrupted  her: — "Peace,  wicked 
woman,  peace  !  unworthy  to  breathe  that  doest  not  acknowledge 
the  Breath-giver  ;  most  unworthy  to  have  a  tongue,  which 
speakest  against  Him  through  Whom  thou  speakest  ;  keep  your 
affection  to  yourself,  which,  like  a  bemired  dog,  would  defile  with 
fawning.  You  say  yesterday  was  as  to-day.  O  foolish  woman, 
and  most  miserably  foolish  since  wit  makes  you  foolish,  what 
doth  that  argue  but  that  there  is  a  constancy  in  the  everlasting 
Governor  ?  Would  you  have  an  inconstant  God  ;  since  we  count 
a  man  foolish  that  is  inconstant  ?  He  is  not  seen,  you  say  ;  and 
would  you  think  him  a  god  who  might  be  seen  by  so  wicked  eyes 
as  yours  }  which  yet  might  see  enough  if  they  were  not  like  such 
who  for  sport's  sake  willingly  hoodwink  themselves  to  receive  blows 
the  easier.  But,  though  I  speak  to  you  without  any  hope  of  fruit 
in  so  rotten  a  heart,  and  there  be  nobody  else  here  to  judge  of 
my  speeches,  yet  be  thou  my  witness,  O  captivity,  that  my  ears 
shall  not  be  willingly  guilty  of  my  Creator's  blasphemy.  You  say, 
because  we  know  not  the  causes  of  things,  therefore  fear  was  the 
mother  of  superstition  ;  nay,  because  we  know  that  each  effect 
hath  a  cause,  that  hath  engendered  a  true  and  lively  devotion. 
For  this  goodly  work  of  which  we  are,  and  in  which  we  live,  hath 
not  his  being  by  chance  ;  on  which  opinion  it  is  beyond  marvel 
by  what  chance  any  brain  could  stumble.  For  if  it  be  eternal, 
as  you  would  se§m  to  conceive  of  it,  eternity  and  chance  are 
things  unsufiferable  together.  For  that  is  chanceable  which  hap- 
peneth  ;  and  if  it  happen,  there  was  a  time  before  it  happened 
when  it  might  have  not  happened  ;  or  else  it  did  not  happen,  and 


414  ENGLISH  PROSE 


so,  if  chanc'eable,  not  eternal.  And  as  absurd  it  is  to  think  that, 
if  it  had  a  beginning,  his  beginning  was  derived  from  chance  ;  for 
chance  could  never  make  all  things  of  nothing  :  and  if  there  were 
substances  before  which  by  chance  should  meet  to  make  up  this 
work,  thereon  follows  another  bottomless  pit  of  absurdities.  For 
then  those  substances  must  needs  have  been  from  ever,  and  so 
eternal  ;  and  that  eternal  causes  should  bring  forth  chanceable 
effects  is  as  sensible  as  that  the  sun  should  be  the  author  of  dark- 
ness. Again,  if  it  were  chanceable,  then  was  it  not  necessar>'  ; 
whereby  you  take  away  all  consequents.  But  we  see  in  all 
things,  in  some  respect  or  other,  necessity  of  consequence  ;  there- 
fore, in  reason,  we  must  needs  know  that  the  causes  were 
necessary.  Lastly,  chance  is  variable,  or  else  it  is  not  to  be 
called  chance  ;  but  we  see  this  work  is  steady  and  permanent. 
If  nothing  but  chance  had  glued  those  pieces  of  this  All,  the 
heavy  parts  would  have  gone  infinitely  downward,  the  light 
infinitely  upward,  and  so  never  have  met  to  have  made  up  this 
goodly  body.  For,  before  there  was  a  heaven  or  earth,  there 
was  neither  a  heaven  to  stay  the  height  of  the  ring,  or  an  earth 
which,  in  respect  of  the  round  walls  of  heaven,  should  become  a 
centre.  Lastly,  perfect  order,  perfect  beauty,  perfect  constancy, — ■ 
if  these  be  the  children  of  chance,  let  wisdom  be  counted  the 
root  of  wickedness. 

But,  you  will  say,  it  is  so  by  nature  ;  as  much  as  if  you  said  it 
is  so  because  it  is  so.  If  you  mean  of  many  natures  conspiring 
together,  as  in  a  popular  government,  to  establish  this  fair  estate, 
as  if  the  elementish  and  ethereal  parts  should  in  their  town-house 
set  down  the  bounds  of  each  one's  office,  then  consider  what 
follows  :  that  there  must  needs  have  been  a  wisdom  which  made 
them  concur.  For  their  natures,  being  absolutely  contrary,  in 
nature  rather  would  have  sought  each  other's  ruin  than  have 
served  as  well-consorted  parts  to  such  an  unexpressible  harmony. 
For  that  contrary  things  should  meet  to  make  up  a  perfection 
without  force  and  wisdom  above  their  powers  is  absolutely 
impossible  ;  unless  you  will  fly  to  that  hissed -out  opinion  of 
chance  again.  But  you  may  perhaps  affirm  that  one  universal 
nature,  which  hath  been  for  ever,  is  the  knitting-together  of  these 
many  parts  to  such  an  excellent  unity.  If  you»  mean  a  nature  of 
wisdom,  goodness,  and  providence,  which  knows  what  it  doth, 
then  say  you  that  which  I  seek  of  you,  and  cannot  conclude  those 
blasphemies  with  which  you  defiled  \-our  mouth  and  mine  ears. 


SIR  PHILIP  SI  ONE  Y  415 

But  if  you  mean  a  nature,  as  we  speak  of  the  fire,  which  goeth 
upward  it  knows  not  why,  and  of  the  nature  of  the  sea,  which  in 
ebbing  and  flowing  seems  to  observe  so  just  a  dance  and  yet 
understands  no  music,  it  is  but  still  the  same  absurdity  super- 
scribed with  another  title.  For  this  word  One  being  attributed 
to  that  which  is  All  is  but  one  mingling  of  many,  and  many  ones  ; 
as  in  a  less  matter,  when  we  say  one  kingdom  which  contains  many 
cities,  or  one  city  which  contains  many  persons  ;  wherein  the 
under-ones,  if  there  be  not  a  superior  power  and  wisdom,  cannot 
by  nature  regard  any  preservation  but  of  themselves  ;  no  more 
we  see  they  do,  since  the  water  willingly  quenches  the  fire,  and 
drowns  the  earth,  so  far  are  they  from  a  conspired  unity  ;  but 
that  a  right  heavenly  nature  indeed,  as  it  were  unnaturing  them, 
doth  so  bridle  them. 

Again,  it  is  as  absurd  in  nature  that  from  an  unity  many 
contraries  should  proceed,  still  kept  in  an  unity,  as  that  from  the 
number  of  contrarieties  an  unity  should  arise.  I  say  still,  if  you 
banish  both  a  singularity  and  a  plurality  of  judgment  from  among 
them,  then,  if  so  earthly  a  mind  can  lift  itself  up  so  high,  do  but 
conceive  how  a  thing  whereto  you  give  the  highest  and  most 
excellent  kind  of  being,  which  is  eternity,  can  be  of  a  base  and 
vilest  degree  of  being,  and  next  to  a  not-being,  which  is  so  to  be 
as  not  to  enjoy  his  own  being.  I  will  not  here  call  all  your 
senses  to  witness,  which  can  hear  nor  see  nothing  which  yields 
not  most  evident  evidence  of  the  unspeakableness  of  that  wisdom, 
each  thing  being  directed  to  an  end  of  preservation  ;  so  proper 
effects  of  judgment  as  speaking  and  laughing  are  of  mankind. 
But  what  mad  fury  can  ever  so  inveigle  any  conceit  as  to  see  our 
mortal  and  corruptible  selves  to  have  a  reason,  and  that  this 
universality,  whereof  we  are  but  the  least  pieces,  should  be  utterly 
devoid  thereof?  As  if  one  should  say  that  one's  foot  might 
be  wise,  and  himself  foolish.  This  heard  I  once  alleged  against 
such  a  godless  mind  as  yours,  who,  being  driven  to  acknowledge 
this  beastly  absurdity,  that  our  bodies  should  be  better  than  the 
whole  world  if  it  had  the  knowledge  whereof  the  other  were  void, 
he  sought,  not  able  to  answer  directly,  to  shift  it  off  in  this  sort  : 
that,  if  that  reason  were  true,  then  must  it  follow  also  that  the 
world  must  have  in  it  a  spirit  that  could  write  and  read  too,  and 
be  learned,  since  that  was  in  us  commendable.  Wretched  fool ! 
not  considering  that  books  be  but  supplies  of  defects,  and  so  are 
praibed   because   they  help   our   want,   and   therefore   cannot   be 


4i6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


incident  to  the  Eternal  Intelligence,  which  needs  no  recording  of 
opinions  to  confirm  His  knowledge,  no  more  than  the  sun  wants 
wax  to  be  the  fuel  of  his  glorious  lightfulness. 

This  world,  therefore,  cannot  otherwise  consist  but  by  a  mind 
of  wisdom  which  governs  it,  which  whether  you  will  allow  to  be 
the  Creator  thereof,  as  undoubtedly  He  is,  or  the  soul  and  gover- 
nor thereof,  most  certain  it  is  that,  whether  He  govern  all,  or 
make  all,  His  power  is  above  either  His  creatures  or  His  govern- 
ment. And  if  His  power  be  above  all  things,  then,  consequently, 
it  must  needs  be  infinite,  since  there  is  nothing  above  it  to  limit 
it ;  for  that  beyond  which  there  is  nothing  must  needs  be  bound- 
less and  infinite.  If  His  power  be  infinite,  then  likewise  must  His 
knowledge  be  infinite  ;  for  else  there  should  be  an  infinite  pro- 
portion of  power  which  He  should  not  know  how  to  use,  the 
unsensibleness  whereof  I  think  even  you  can  conceive ;  and  if 
infinite,  then  must  nothing,  no,  not  the  estate  of  flies,  which  you 
with  so  unsavoury  scorn  did  jest  at,  be  unknown  to  Him  ;  for  if 
there  were,  then  were  His  knowledge  bounded,  and  so  not 
infinite.  If  His  knowledge  and  power  be  infinite,  then  must 
needs  His  goodness  and  justice  march  in  the  same  rank  ;  for 
infiniteness  of  power  and  knowledge,  without  like  measure  of 
goodness,  must  necessarily  bring  forth  destruction  and  ruin,  and 
not  ornament  and  preservation.  Since,  then,  there  is  a  God,  and 
an  all-knowing  God,  so  as  He  seeth  into  the  darkest  of  all  natural 
secrets,  which  is  the  heart  of  man,  and  sees  therein  the  deepest 
dissembled  thoughts  —  nay,  sees  the  thoughts  before  they  be 
thought  ;  since  He  is  just  to  exercise  His  might,  and  mighty  to 
perform  His  justice,  assure  thyself,  most  wicked  woman,  that  hast 
so  plaguily  a  corrupted  mind  as  thou  canst  not  keep  thy  sickness 
to  thyself,  but  must  most  wickedly  infect  others — assure  thyself, 
I  say,  for  what  I  say  depends  of  everlasting  and  unremovable 
causes,  that  the  time  will  come  when  thou  shall  know  that  power 
by  feeling  it,  when  thou  shalt  see  His  wisdom  in  the  manifesting 
thy  ugly  shamefulness,  and  shalt  only  perceive  Him  to  have  been 
a  Creator  in  thy  destruction. 

(From  the  Same,  Book  III.) 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  417 


PARTHENIA'S  RETURN  TO  ARGALUS 

But  the  headpiece  was  no  sooner  off  but  that  there  fell  about 
the  shoulders  of  the  overcome  knight  the  treasure  of  fair  golden 
hair,  which,  with  the  face,  soon  known  by  the  badge  of  excellency, 
witnessed  that  it  was  Parthenia,  the  unfortunately  virtuous  wife  of 
Argalus  ;  her  beauty  then,  even  in  despite  of  the  passed  sorrow, 
or  coming  death,  assuring  all  beholders  that  it  was  nothing  short 
of  perfection.  For  her  exceeding  fair  eyes  having  with  continual 
weeping  gotten  a  little  redness  about  them  ;  her  round,  sweetly- 
swelling  lips  a  little  trembling,  as  though  they  kissed  their  neigh- 
bour death  ;  in  her  cheeks,  the  whiteness  striving  by  little  and 
little  to  get  upon  the  rosiness  of  them  ;  her  neck — a  neck  indeed 
of  alabaster — displaying  the  wound  which  with  most  dainty  blood 
laboured  to  drown  his  own  beauties  ;  so  as  here  was  a  river  of 
purest  red,  there  an  island  of  perfectest  white,  each  giving  lustre 
to  the  other,  with  the  sweet  countenance,  God  knows,  full  of 
unaffected  languishing  :  though  these  things,  to  a  grossly  con- 
ceiving sense,  might  seem  disgraces,  yet  indeed  were  they  but 
apparelling  beauty  in  a  new  fashion,  which  all  looking  upon 
through  the  spectacles  of  pity,  did  even  increase  the  lines  of  her 
natural  fairness,  so  as  Amphialus  was  astonished  with  grief, 
compassion,  and  shame,  detesting  his  fortune  that  made  him 
unfortunate  in  victory. 

Therefore,  putting  off  his  headpiece  and  gauntlet,  kneeling 
down  unto  her,  and  with  tears  testifying  his  sorrow,  he  offered 
his,  by  himself  accursed,  hands  to  help  her,  protesting  his  life 
and  power  to  be  ready  to  do  her  honour.  But  Parthenia,  who 
had  inward  messengers  of  the  desired  death's  approach,  looking 
upon  him,  and  straight  turning  away  her  feeble  sight,  as  from  a 
delightless  object,  drawing  out  her  words,  which  her  breath,  loth 
to  depart  from  so  sweet  a  body,  did  faintly  deliver,  "  Sir,"  said 
she,  "  I  pray  you,  if  prayers  have  place  in  enemies,  to  let  my 
maids  take  my  body  untouched  by  you  :  the  only  honour  I  now 
desire  by  your  means  is,  that  I  have  no  honour  of  you.  Argalus 
made  no  such  bargain  with  you  :  that  the  hands  which  killed  him 
should  help  me.  I  have  of  them — and  I  do  not  only  pardon  you, 
but  thank  you  for  it — the  service  which  I  desired.  There  rests 
nothing  now  but  that  I  go  and  live  with  him  since  whose  death  I 
have  done  nothing  but  die."     Then  pausing,  and  a  little  fainting, 

VOL.  I  2  ^. 


4i8  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  again  coming  to  herself,  "  O,  sweet  life,  welcome,"  said  she ; 
"  now  feel  I  the  bands  untied  of  the  cruel  death  which  so  long 
hath  held  me.  And,  O  life,  O  death,  answer  for  me,  that  my 
thoughts  have,  not  so  much  as  in  a  dream,  tasted  any  comfort 
since  they  were  deprived  of  Argalus.  I  come,  my  Argalus,  I 
come  !  And,  O  God,  hide  my  faults  in  thy  mercies,  and  grant, 
as   I   feel   Thou  dost  grant,  that  in  Thy  eternal  love  we  may  love 

each  other  eternally.      And  this,  O  Lord "   but  there  Atropos 

cut  off  her  sentence  ;  for  with  that,  casting  up  both  eyes  and 
hands  to  the  skies,  the  noble  soul  departed,  one  might  well 
assure  himself,  to  heaven,  which  left  the  body  in  so  heavenly  a 
demeanour. 

But  Amphialus,  with  a  heart  oppressed  with  grief,  because  of 
her  request,  withdrew  himself;  but  the  judges,  as  full  of  pity,  had 
been  all  this  while  disarming  her,  and  her  gentlewomen  with 
lamentable  cries  labouring  to  stanch  the  remediless  wounds  ;  and 
a  while  she  was  dead  before  they  perceived  it,  death  being  able 
to  divide  the  soul,  but  not  the  beauty,  from  the  body.  But  when 
the  infallible  tokens  of  death  assured  them  of  their  loss,  one  of 
the  women  would  have  killed  herself,  but  that  the  squire  of 
Amphialus,  perceiving,  by  force  held  her.  Others  that  had  as 
strong  passion,  though  weaker  resolution,  fell  to  cast  dust  upon 
their  heads,  to  tear  their  garments,  all  falling  upon  the  earth  and 
crying  upon  their  sweet  mistress,  as  if  their  cries  could  persuade 
the  soul  to  leave  the  celestial  happiness,  to  come  again  into  the 
elements  of  sorrow  ;  one  time  calling  to  remembrance  her  virtue, 
chasteness,  sweetness,  goodness  to  them  ;  another  time  accursing 
themselves,  that  they  had  obeyed  her,  being  deceived  by  her 
words,  who  assured  them  that  it  was  revealed  unto  her  that  she 
should  have  her  heart's  desire  in  the  battle  against  Amphialus, 
which  they  wrongly  understood.  Then  kissing  her  cold  hands 
and  feet,  weary  of  the  world  since  she  was  gone  who  was  their 
world,  the  very  heavens  seemed  with  a  cloudy  countenance  to 
lower  at  the  loss,  and  fame  itself,  though  by  nature  glad  to  tell 
such  rare  accidents,  yet  could  not  choose  but  deliver  it  in 
lamentable  accents,  and  in  such  sort  went  it  quickly  all  over  the 
camp  ;  and,  as  if  the  air  had  been  infected  with  sorrow,  no  heart 
was  so  hard  but  was  subject  to  that  contagion  ;  the  rareness  of 
the  accident  matching  together  the  rarely  matched  together — pity 
with  admiration.  Basilius  himself  came  forth,  and  brought  the 
fair  Gynecia  with  him,  who  was  come  into  the  camp  under  colour 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  4i9 

of  visiting  her  husband  and  hearing  of  her  daughters  ;  but  indeed 
Zehnane  was  the  saint  to  which  her  pilgrimage  was  intended  ; 
cursing,  envying,  blessing,  and,  in  her  heart,  kissing  the  walls 
which  imprisoned  her.  But  both  they,  with  Philanax  and  the 
rest  of  the  principal  nobility,  went  out  to  make  honour  triumph 
over  death,  conveying  that  excellent  body,  whereto  Basilius  him- 
self would  needs  lend  his  shoulder,  to  a  church  a  mile  from  the 
camp,  where  the  valiant  Argalus  lay  entombed,  recommending  to 
that  sepulchre  the  blessed  relics  of  a  faithful  and  virtuous  love, 
giving  order  for  the  making  of  two  marble  images  to  represent 
them,  and  each  way  enriching  the  tomb  ;  upon  which  Basilius 
himself  caused  this  epitaph  to  be  written  : — 

THE  EPITAPH. 

His  being  was  in  her  alone  ; 
And  he  not  being,  she  was  none. 
They  joy'd  one  joy,  one  grief  they  griev'd, 
One  love  they  lov'd,  one  life  they  liv'd. 
The  hand  was  one,  one  was  the  sword 
That  did  his  death,  her  death  afford. 
As  all  the  rest,  so  now  the  stone 
That  tombs  ihe  two  is  justly  one. 
Argalus  and  Pakthenia. 

(From  the  Same,  Book  III.) 


LYRIC   AND    HEROIC   POETRY 

Is  it  the  lyric  that  most  displeaseth,  who  with  his  tuned  lyre, 
and  well -accorded  voice,  giveth  praise,  the  reward  of  virtue,  to 
virtuous  acts  ?  who  giveth  moral  precepts,  and  natural  problems  ? 
who  sometimes  raiseth  up  his  voice  to  the  height  of  the  heavens, 
in  singing  the  lauds  of  the  immortal  God  .''  Certainly,  I  must 
confess  my  own  barbarousness,  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of 
Percy  and  Douglas,  that  I  found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than 
with  a  trumpet  :  and  yet  is  it  sung  but  by  some  blind  crowder, 
with  no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style  :  which  being  so  evil- 
apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  that  uncivil  age,  what 
would  it  work  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindar  ? 
In  Hungary  I  have  seen  it  the  manner  at  all  feasts,  and  other 
such  meetings,  to  have  songs  of  their  ancestors'  valour ;   which 


420  ENGLISH  PROSE 


that  right  soldier-like  nation  think  the  chiefest  kindlers  of  brave 
courage.  The  incomparable  Lacedaemonians  did  not  only  carry 
that  kind  of  music  ever  with  them  to  the  field,  but  even  at  home, 
as  such  songs  were  made,  so  were  they  all  content  to  be  the 
singers  of  them,  when  the  lusty  men  were  to  tell  what  they  did, 
the  old  men  what  they  had  done,  and  the  young  men  what  they 
would  do.  And  where  a  man  may  say,  that  Pindar  many  times 
praiseth  highly  victories  of  small  moment,  matters  rather  of  sport 
than  virtue  ;  as  it  may  be  answered,  it  was  the  fault  of  the 
poet,  and  not  of  the  poetry  :  so  indeed,  the  chief  fault  was  in  the 
time  and  custom  of  the  Greeks,  who  set  those  toys  at  so  high  a 
price,  that  Philip  of  Macedon  reckoned  a  horse-race  won  at 
Olympus,  among  his  three  fearful  felicities.  But  as  the  inimitable 
Pindar  often  did,  so  is  that  kind  most  capable  and  most  fit  to 
awake  the  thoughts  from  the  sleep  of  idleness,  to  embrace 
honourable  enterprises. 

There  rests  the  Heroical,  whose  very  name  (I  think)  should 
daunt  all  back-biters  ;  for  by  what  conceit  can  a  tongue  be 
directed  to  speak  evil  of  that  which  draweth  with  it  no  less 
champions  than  Achilles,  Cyrus,  .(Eneas,  Turnus,  Tydeus,  and 
Rinaldo  ?  Who  doth  not  only  teach  and  move  to  a  truth,  but 
teacheth  and  moveth  to  the  most  high  and  excellent  truth.  Who 
maketh  magnanimity  and  justice  shine  throughout  all  misty  fear- 
fulness  and  foggy  desires.  Who,  if  the  saying  of  Plato  and  TuUy 
be  true,  that  who  could  see  virtue,  would  be  wonderfully  ravished 
with  the  love  of  her  beauty  :  this  man  sets  her  out  to  make  her 
more  lovely  in  her  holiday  apparel,  to  the  eye  of  any  that  will 
deign  not  to  disdain,  until  they  understand.  But  if  anything  be 
already  said  in  the  defence  of  sweet  poetry,  all  concurreth  to  the 
maintaining  the  Heroical,  which  is  not  only  a  kind,  but  the  best 
and  most  accomplished  kind  of  poetry.  For  as  the  image  of 
each  action  stirreth  and  instructeth  the  mind,  so  the  lofty  image 
of  such  worthies,  most  inflameth  the  mind  with  desire  to  be 
worthy,  and  informs  with  counsel  how  to  be  worthy.  Only  let 
.lEneas  be  worn  in  the  tablet  of  your  memory,  how  he  governeth 
himself  in  the  ruin  of  his  country,  in  the  preserving  his  old  father 
and  carrying  away  his  religious  ceremonies,  in  obeying  the  gods' 
commandment  to  leave  Dido,  though  not  only  all  passionate 
kindness,  but  even  the  humane  consideration  of  virtuous  grate- 
fulness, would  have  craved  other  of  him.  How  in  storms,  how 
in  sports,  how  in  war,  how  in  peace,  how  a  fugitive,  how  victorious, 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  421 

how  besieged,  how  besieging,  how  to  strangers,  how  to  allies,  how 
to  enemies,  how  to  his  own  ;  lastly,  how  in  his  inward  self,  and 
how  in  his  outward  government.  And  I  think,  in  a  mind  not 
prejudiced  with  a  prejudicating  humour,  he  will  be  found  in 
excellency  fruitful  ;  yea  even  as  Horace  saith, 

Melius  Chrysippo  et  Crantore. 

But  truly  I  imagine,  it  falleth  out  with  these  poet-whippers,  as 
with  some  good  women,  who  often  are  sick,  but  in  faith  they  can- 
not tell  where.  So  the  name  of  poetry  is  odious  to  them,  but 
neither  his  cause,  nor  effects,  neither  the  sum  that  contains  him, 
nor  the  particularities  descending  from  him,  give  any  fast  handle 
to  their  carping  dispraise. 

(From  The  Defence  0/ Poesy.) 


THE    HONOUR  OF   POESY 

So  that  sith  the  ever  praise-worthy  poesy,  is  full  of  virtue-breed- 
ing delightfulness,  and  void  of  no  gift  that  ought  to  be  in  the 
noble  name  of  learning ;  sith  the  blames  laid  against  it,  are 
either  false,  or  feeble  ;  sith  the  cause  why  it  is  not  esteemed  in 
England,  is  the  fault  of  poet-apes,  not  poets  ;  sith  lastly,  our 
tongue  is  most  fit  to  honour  poesy,  and  to  be  honoured  by  poesy  : 
I  conjure  you  all,  that  have  had  t%e  evil  luck  to  read  this  ink- 
wasting  toy  of  mine,  even  in  the  name  of  the  nine  Muses,  no 
more  to  scorn  the  sacred  mysteries' of  poesy  ;  no  more  to  laugh  at 
the  name  of  poets,  as  though  they  were  next  inheritors  to  fools  ; 
no  more  to  jest  at  the  reverent  title  of  a  rhymer  :  but  to  believe 
with  Aristotle,  that  they  were  the  ancient  treasurers  of  the 
Grecians'  divinity.  To  believe  with  Bembus,  that  they  were  first 
bringers  in  of  all  civility.  To  believe  with  Scaliger,  that  no 
philosophers'  precepts  can  sooner  make  you  an  honest  man,  than 
the  reading  of  Virgil.  To  believe  with  Clauserus,  the  trans- 
lator of  Cornutus,  that  it  pleased  the  heavenly  Deity,  by  Hesiod 
and  Homer,  under  the  veil  of  fables  to  give  us  all  knowledge, 
logic,  rhetoric,  philosophy,  natural  and  moral,  and  quid  non  ? 
To  believe  with  me,  that  there  are  many  mysteries  contained  in 
poetry,  which  of  purpose  were  written  darkly,  lest  by  profane  wits 
it  should  be  abused.      To  believe  with  Landin,  that  they  are  so 


422  ENGLISH  PROSE 


beloved  of  the  gods,  that  whatsoever  they  write,  proceeds  of  a 
divine  fury.  Lastly,  to  believe  themselves,  when  they  tell  you 
they  will  make  you  immortal  by  their  verses. 

Thus  doing,  your  name  shall  flourish  in  the  printers'  shops  ; 
thus  doing,  you  shall  be  of  kin  to  many  a  poetical  preface  ;  thus 
doing,  you  shall  be  most  fair,  most  rich,  most  wise,  most  all,  you 
shall  dwell  upon  superlatives.  Thus  doing,  though  you  be  liber- 
tino  patrc  natus,  you  shall  suddenly  grow  Herciilea  proles^ 

si  quid  inea  carniina  possiint. 

Thus  doing,  your  soul  shall  be  placed  with  Dante's  Beatrix,  or 
Virgil's  Anchises.  But  if  (fie  of  such  a  but  I)  you  be  born  so  near 
the  dull  making  cataract  of  Nilus,  that  you  cannot  hear  the 
planet-like  music  of  poetry,  if  you  have  so  earth-creeping  a  mind, 
that  it  cannot  lift  itself  up  to  look  to  the  sky  of  poetry  ;  or  rather, 
by  a  certain  rustical  disdain,  will  become  such  a  mome,  as  to  be 
a  Momus  of  poetry  :  then,  though  I  will  not  wish  unto  you  the 
ass's  ears  of  Midas,  nor  to  be  driven  by  a  poet's  verses  (as 
Bubonax  was),  to  hang  himself,  nor  to  be  rhymed  to  death,  as  is 
said  to  be  done  in  Ireland  :  yet  thus  much  curse  I  must  send 
you  in  the  behalf  of  all  poets,  tliat  while  you  live,  you  live  in 
love,  and  never  get  favour,  for  lacking  skill  of  a  sonnet,  and 
when  you  die,  your  memory  die  from  the  earth,  for  want  of  an 
epitaph. 

(From  the  Same.) 


LORD    BROOKE 


[Fulke  Greville,  Lord  Brooke,  was  the  son  of  Sir  Fulke  Greville  of 
Beauchamp  Hall,  Warwickshire,  and  his  immediate  ancestry  connected  him 
with  the  houses  of  Beauchamp,  Neville,  and  Willoughby.  He  was  born  in 
1554,  and  educated  at  Shrewsbury  School  (with  Sir  Philip  Sidney  whose 
friend  he  was  till  death).  He  then,  it  would  seem,  went  to  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  not,  as  was  formerly  thought,  to  Trinity.  He  was  afterwards 
admitted  a  Master  of  Arts  at  Oxford,  and  may  have  been  in  even  a  fuller 
sense  utriusque  academics,  as  so  many  men  were  then.  He  shared  Sidney's 
court  favour,  and  standing — with  the  usual  vicissitudes — high  in  Elizabeth's 
good  graces,  was  appointed  to  valuable  offices  in  Wales.  He  had  also  lavish 
grants  in  Warwickshire,  was  knighted  in  1597,  sat  pretty  constantly  in  Parlia- 
ment for  his  native  county,  and  founded  a  historical  lectureship,  the  lapse  of 
which  is  unexplained,  at  Cambridge.  For  some  time  after  Elizabeth's  death 
(though  it  was  at  James's  coronation  that  he  received  Warwick  Castle,  the 
most  memorable  of  royal  bounties  to  him)  he  lived  in  retirement.  He 
emerged  therefrom  and  became  Chancellor  of  the  E.xchequer  in  1614,  and 
was,  in  1620,  raised  to  the  peerage  as  Lord  Brooke  of  Beauchamp,  with 
remainder,  as  he  was  not  married,  to  a  cousin.  In  his  old  age  Sir  William 
Davenant  was  a  member  of  his  household.  His  end  was  strange  and  tragic,  it 
being  asserted  that  he  was  stabbed  in  the  back  by  an  old  servant  named 
Heywood,  who  was  enraged  at  not  finding  himself  named  in  his  master's 
will.  This  happened  in  Brooke  House,  Holborn,  on  the  first  or  thirtieth  of 
September  1628.  The  story  seems  to  have  been  somewhat  hushed  up,  and 
there  is  evidence  (of  no  very  trustworthy  character)  that  Brooke  was  not 
personally  popular.  His  extremely  remarkable  poems  do  not  form  part  of 
our  subject.  They  were,  with  a  few  insignificant  exceptions,  not  published 
till  after  his  death,  and  his  prose  appeared  still  later.  The  first  complete  edition 
of  his  works  was  that  of  Dr.  Grosart,  privately  printed,  4  vols,  1870.] 

An  unseasonable  wit,  yet  one  not  wholly  alien  from  the  Elizabethan 
spirit,  might  say  that  before  discussing  Fulke  Greville  as  a  prose 
writer,  it  ought  to  be  settled  whether  the  subject  is  limited  to  his 
writings  in  prose.  Certain  it  is  that  much  of  his  singular  work 
in  verse — poems  of  monarchy,  treatises  on  religion,  tracts  on 
human  learning  and  what  not — is  by  subject  always,  and  by 
treatment  sometimes,   rather    prosaic,   despite    the    extraordinary 

423 


424  ENGLISH  PROSE 


flashes,  the  black  lightning,  as  it  has  been  fancifully  called,  of 
poetry  with  which  Lord  Brooke  everywhere  illuminates  his  subjects. 
But  his  actual  work  in  prose,  though  not  extensive,  is  interesting 
enough.  Of  the  four  pieces  of  which  it  nominally  consists,  one, 
the  letter  to  Greville  Varney,  is  brief  and  (as  far  as  it  was 
possible  for  Greville  ever  to  be  so)  common-place  :  another,  the 
"  short  speech  for  Bacon,"  is  a  mere  fragment.  The  remaining 
two,  the  so-called  "  Life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  and  the  "  Letter  to 
an  Honourable  Lady,"  are  of  infinitely  more  importance.  The 
surprising  nature  of  the  contents  of  the  first  is  sufficiently  accounted 
for  when  it  is  remembered  that  Greville  neither  called  it  by 
its  present  title,  nor  regarded  it  as  any  such  thing.  It  was 
avowedly  meant  as  an  autobiographic  preface  to  his  own  works, 
in  which  he  endeavoured  to  illustrate  what  later  phrase-mongers 
would  call  his  soul -history  by  elaborate  panegyric  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  two  persons  who  had  exercised 
most  influence  on  his  character  and  career.  As  for  the  "  Letter 
to  an  Honourable  Lady,"  I  am  absolutely  unable  to  perceive  the 
slightest  ground  for  identifying  the  lady  with  Penelope  Devereux, 
as  Dr.  Grosart  and  others  have  done.  Scarcely  one  single 
point  of  the  problem  which  Greville  outlines — the  falling  out  of 
a  married  pair  who  had  married  for  love  and  had  become 
sundered  by  the  preference  of  the  husband  for  a  mistress — agrees 
with  what  we  know  of  the  relations  of  Lord  and  Lady  Rich,  while 
the  general  picture  of  husband  and  wife  given  here  is  as  unlike 
as  possible  to  what  is  known  both  of  "  Stella  "  and  her  husband. 
But  here  again  the  ostensible  subject  of  the  "  Letter "  (which  it 
seems  was  a  mere  literary  exercise  and  was  never  sent)  is  but 
distantly  related  to  its  actual  contents.  These  consist  of  divers 
cogitations  on  love -marriage,  now,  as  is  Greville's  wont,  of  an 
astonishing  profundity  and  suggestiveness,  now,  as  is  too  often 
the  case  with  him,  pervaded  by  an  obscurity  which  aff"ects  equally 
the  drift  of  particular  passages  and  the  connection  of  those 
passages  one  with  the  other. 

Brief  as  these  two  books  or  pieces  are  (for  they  do  not 
together  fill  three  hundred  pages,  each  of  which  has  not  half 
the  capacity  of  this  present)  they  are  among  the  most  remarkable 
minor  works  in  Elizabethan  prose  :  and  they  may  perhaps  be  said 
to  exhibit  the  chief  characteristics  of  that  prose  in  such  a  way  as 
to  escape  altogether  the  reproach  of  minority.  Here  are  the 
special  defects  of  the  time — the  want  of  fluency  and  ease  natural 


LORD  BROOKE  425 


to  a  language  which  was  hardly  yet  out  of  leading-strings,  but 
endeavouring  at  independence,  the  apparent  pedantry,  the  unusual 
use  of  words,  the  inexpert  arrangement  of  sentences  and  clauses, 
the  obscurity  which  comes,  not  of  imperfect  but  of  over  elaborate 
and  pregnant  thought.  Here  also  are  the  noble  and  profound 
reflections,  the  views  of  life  which  consider  its  miseries  steadily 
and  yet  not  unhopefully,  the  high  and  chivalrous  fancy,  the 
conception  at  once  of  duty  and  of  romance,  the  full  and  sonorous 
style,  the  apt  presentation  of  objective  fact,  the  constant  flashes 
of  illustration  by  happy  and  unexpected  use  of  word  and  phrase. 
Let  not  any  one  be  so  rash  as  to  assert  that  the  seventeenth 
century  had  nearly  to  pass  before  cadence  was  introduced  into 
English  prose,  while  he  is  still  ignorant  of  the  beautiful  close  of 
the  last  extract  given  below.  Let  no  one  reproach  Greville  with 
being  too  allegorical  and  figurative,  when  he  finds  allegory  and 
figure  put  to  such  use  as  this,  "  Dotage  is  an  inscrutable  depth,  it 
sets  seals  to  blanks,  makes  contradictories  true,  and  sees  all 
things  in  the  superlative  degree.  In  short  it  is  a  prospect  into 
the  land  of  Ignorance  which,  they  say,  no  man  can  describe  but 
he  that  is  past  it."  Or  this,  "  He  is  by  laws  above  you  :  the  words 
of  your  contract  obedience,  of  his  love  ;  the  revenue  his.  Liberty 
his  friend,  Honour  scarce  indififerent.  Fame  against  you,  protest- 
ing ever  on  the  side  of  strength  not  right."  These  brief  books 
are  full  of  equally  vivid  things,  from  the  few  strong  touches 
which  describe  the  Prince  of  Orange  to  such  a  single  phrase  as 
"casting  a  grey-headed  cloud  of  fear  over  them."  Nor  perhaps 
is  it  easy  to  find  in  all  that  generation  of  high -thinking  and 
brilliantly-writing  men  any  one  who  combines  vivid  expression 
with  weighty  thought  more  notably  than  Brooke  does. 

Against  this  there  is,  no  doubt,  to  be  set  a  double  portion  of 
the  great  literary  vice  of  the  time,  the  want  of  clearness  and 
simplicity.  I  know  that  some  people  think  Brooke's  obscurity 
exaggerated  ;  and  it  is  no  doubt  a  rather  subtle  temptation  to 
assert  clearness  in  what  others  find  obscure.  But  I  do  not  feel 
disposed  to  pay  any  such  compliment  to  my  own  acuteness  in 
this  case.  Indirectness  of  speech  can  hardly  go  further  than 
in  the  case  of  Greville's  accounts  of  Sidney's  quarrel  with  Lord 
Oxford,  and  of  his  dealings  with  Sir  Francis  Drake — indeed,  from 
these  accounts  by  themselves,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  discover 
what  actually  happened.  Not  a  few  passages  in  the  encomium 
of  Elizabeth  are  so  involved  and  periphrastic  that  a  hasty  reader 


426  ENGLISH  PROSE 


might  set  them  down  as  mere  galimatias^  and  it  is  really  surpris- 
ing that  no  Shakespearian  commentator  has  detected  (perhaps 
some  one  has)  in  Greville  the  original  of  Polonius.  In  him 
appears  the  beginning  of  that  strange  inability  to  construct  and 
confine  oneself  to  a  simple  sentence  which,  not  apparent  at  all 
in  much  earlier  work,  seems  to  have  come  upon  Englishmen  in 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  from  which  they  hardly  got  free  till 
the  reign  of  William  the  Third.  Whether  these  defects  of  manner 
prove  efficient  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  those  who  would 
come  at  the  matter  will  depend  very  much,  if  not  entirely,  on  the 
mental  temper  of  each  reader.  But  hardly  any  one  who  sunnounts 
them  will,  I  think,  quarrel  with  Brooke's  thought  as  poor,  or  deny 
that  his  style,  however  stiff  and  cumbrous,  is  costly  in  substance 
and  magnificent  in  ornament. 

George  Saintsbury. 


WILLIAM  OF  ORANGE 

Here  I  am  still  enforced  to  bring  pregnant  evidence  from  the 
dead,  amongst  whom  I  have  found  far  more  liberal  contribution 
to  the  honour  of  true  worth,  than  amongst  those  which  now  live  ; 
and  in  the  markets  of  se/fnesse,  traffic  new  interest  by  the  dis- 
credit of  old  friends  :  that  ancient  wisdom  of  righting  enemies, 
being  utterly  worn  out  of  date  in  our  modern  discipline. 

My  first  instance  must  come  from  that  worthy  Prince  of 
Orange,  William  of  Nassau,  with  whom  this  young  gentleman 
having  long  kept  intelligence  by  word  and  letters,  and  in  affairs 
of  the  highest  nature  that  then  passed  current  upon  the  stages 
of  England,  France,  Germany,  Italy,  the  Low  Countries,  or  Spain, 
it  seems,  I  say,  that  this  young  gentleman  had,  by  this  mutual 
freedom  so  imprinted  the  extraordinary  merit  of  his  young  years 
into  the  large  wisdom  and  experience  of  that  excellent  prince,  as 
I,  passing  out  of  Germany  into  England,  and  having  the  unex- 
pected honour  to  find  this  prince  in  the  town  of  Delph,  cannot 
think  it  unwelcome  to  describe  the  clothes  of  this  prince  ;  his 
positure  of  body  and  mind,  familiarity  and  reservedness,  to  the 
ingenuous  reader,  that  he  may  see  what  divers  characters  princes 
please  and  govern  cities,  towns,  and  peoples. 

His  uppermost  garment  was  a  gown,  yet  such  as — I  dare 
confidently  affirm— a  mean-born  student  in  our  Inns  of  Court 
would  not  have  been  well-pleased  to  walk  the  streets  in.  Un- 
buttoned his  doublet  was,  and  of  like  precious  matter  and  form 
to  the  other.  His  waist-coat — which  showed  it  self  under  it^ — • 
not  unlike  the  best  sort  of  those  woollen  knit  ones,  which  our 
ordinary  watermen  row  us  jn.  His  company  about  him  the 
burgesses  of  that  beer-brewing  town  :  and  he  so  fellow-like  en- 
compassed with  them,  as — had  I  not  known  his  face — no  exterior 
sign  of  degree  or  reservedness  could  have  discovered  the  in- 
equality of  his  worth  or  estate  from  that  multitude.  Notwith- 
standing I  no  sooner  came  to  his  presence,  but  it  pleased  him  to 
427 


428  ENGLISH  PROSE 


take  knowledge  of  me.  And  even  upon  that — as  if  it  had  been  a 
signal  to  make  a  change — his  respect  of  a  stranger  instantly 
begot  respect  to  himself  in  all  about  him  :  an  outward  passage  of 
inward  greatness,  which  in  a  popular  estate  I  thought  worth  the 
observing.  Because  there,  no  pedigree  but  worth  could  possibly 
make  a  man  prince,  and  no  prince,  in  a  moment,  at  his  own 
pleasure. 

(From  the  Life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.') 


SIDNEY'S   RELIGION 

Above  all,  he  made  the  Religion  he  professed,  the  firm  basis  of 
his  life  :  for  this  was  his  judgement — as  he  often  told  me — that 
our  true-heartedness  to  the  Reformed  Religion  in  the  beginning, 
brought  peace  and  safety  and  freedom  to  us  ;  concluding,  that 
the  wisest  and  best  way,  was  that  of  the  famous  William  Prince 
of  Orange,  who  never  divided  the  consideration  of  Estate  from 
the  consideration  of  Religion,  nor  gave  that  sound  party  occasion 
to  be  jealous,  or  distracted,  upon  any  appearance  of  safety  what- 
soever ;  prudently  resolving,  that  to  temporize  with  the  enemies 
of  our  Faith,  was  but — as  among  sea-gulls — a  strife,  not  to  keep 
upright,  but  aloft  upon  the  top  of  every  billow :  which  false- 
heartedness  to  God  and  man,  would  in  the  end  find  it  self 
forsaken  of  both  ;  as  Sir  Philip  conceived.  For  to  this  active 
spirit  of  his,  all  depths  of  the  devil  proved  but  shallow  fords  ;  he 
piercing  into  men's  counsels  and  ends,  not  by  their  words,  oaths, 
or  compliments,  all  barren  in  that  age,  but  by  fathoming  their 
hearts  and  powers,  by  their  deeds,  and  found  no  wisdom  where 
he  found  no  courage,  nor  courage  without  wisdom,  nor  either 
without  honesty  and  truth.  With  which  solid  and  active  reaches 
of  his,  I  am  persuaded,  he  would  have  found,  or  made  a  way 
through  all  the  traverses,  even  of  the  most  weak  and  irregular 
times.  But  it  pleased  God  in  this  decrepit  age  of  the  world,  not 
to  restore  the  image  of  her  ancient  vigour  in  him,  otherwise  than 
as  in  a  lightning  before  death. 

(From  the  Same.) 


LORD  BROOKE  429 


OF  ENGLAND  AND   SPAIN 

And  the  rather,  because  her  long  custom  in  governing  would 
quickly  have  made  her  discern,  that  it  had  been  impossible,  by 
force  or  any  human  wisdom  to  have  qualified  those  overgrown 
combinations  of  Spain  ;  but  only  by  a  countermining  of  party 
with  party,  and  a  distracting  of  exorbitant  desires,  by  casting  a 
gray-headed  cloud  of  fear  over  them  ;  thereby  manifesting  the 
well  disguised  yokes  of  bondage,  under  which  our  modern  con- 
querors would  craftily  entice  the  noun-adjective-natured  princes 
and  subjects  of  this  time  to  submit  their  necks.  A  map — as  it 
pleased  her  to  say — of  his  secrets,  in  which  she  confessed  herself 
to  be  the  more  ripe,  because  under  the  like  false  ensigns,  though 
perchance  better  masked,  she  had  seen  Philip  the  Second  after 
the  same  measure,  or  with  little  difference,  to  Henry  the  Third  of 
France,  a  principal  fellow-member  in  that  earthly  founded,  though 
heavenly  seeming  Church  of  Rome,  when  he  redelivered  Amiens, 
Abbeville,  etc.,  together  with  that  soldier-like  passage  made  by 
the  Duke  of  Parma  through  France  to  the  relief  of  Roan  ;  yet 
whether  this  provident  Philip  did  frame  these  specious  charities 
of  a  conqueror,  Augustus-like  aspiring  to  live  after  death  greater 
than  his  successor  ;  or  providently  foreseeing  that  the  divers 
humours  in  succeeding  princes,  would  prove  unable  to  maintain 
such  green  usurpations,  in  the  heart  of  a  kingdom  competitor 
with  his  seven-headed  Hydra  kept  together  only  by  a  constant 
and  unnatural  wheel  of  fortune,  till  some  new  child  of  hers,  like 
Henry  the  Fourth,  should  take  his  turn  in  restoring  all  unjust 
combinations  or  encroachments  ;  or  lastly,  whether  like  a  true 
cutter  of  cumine  seeds,  he  did  not  craftily  lay  those  hypocritical 
sacrifices  upon  the  altar  of  death,  as  peace-offerings  from  pride 
to  the  temple  of  fear,  as  smokes  of  a  dying  diseased  conscience 
choked  up  with  innocent  blood  :  of  all  which  perplexed  pedigrees, 
I  know  not  what  to  determine  otherwise  ;  than  that  these  tyran- 
nical encroachments  do  carry  the  images  of  Hell,  and  her  thunder- 
workers,  in  their  own  breasts,  as  fortune  doth  misfortunes  in  that 
wind-blown,  vast,  and  various  womb  of  hers, 

(From  the  Same.) 


430  ENGLISH  PROSE 


A  HONEYMOON 

When  you  married  him,  I  know  for  your  part,  he  was  your  first 
love ;  and  I  judge  the  Hke  of  him.  What  the  freedom  and 
simphcity  of  those  humours  were,  every  man  is  a  witness,  that 
hath  not  forgotten  his  own  youth.  And  though  it  be  rather  a 
counsel  of  remorse  than  help,  to  lay  before  you  your  errors  past  ; 
yet  because  they  teach  you  to  know,  that  time  is  it  which  maketh 
the  same  thing  easy  and  impossible,  leaving  withal  an  experience 
for  things  to  come  ;   I  must  in  a  word  lay  occasion  past  before  you. 

Madame,  in  those  near  conjunctions  of  society,  wherein  death 
is  the  only  honourable  divorce,  there  is  but  one  end,  which  is 
mutual  joy  ;  and  to  that  end  two  assured  ways  :  the  one,  by 
cherishing  affection  with  affection  :  the  other,  by  working  affection, 
while  she  is  yet  in  her  pride,  to  a  reverence,  which  hath  more 
power  than  it  self.  To  which  are  required  advantage,  or  at  least 
equality  :  art,  as  well  as  nature.  For  contempt  is  else  as  near  as 
respect  ;  the  lovingest  mind  being  not  ever  the  most  lovely.  Now 
though  it  be  true  that  affections  are  relatives,  and  love  the  surest 
adamant  of  love  ;  yet  must  it  not  be  measured  by  the  untemperate 
elne  of  it  self,  since  prodigality  yields  fulness,  satiety  a  desire  of 
change,  and  change  repentance  :  but  so  tempered  even  in  trust, 
enjoying,  and  all  other  familiarities,  that  the  appetites  of  them  we 
would  please  may  still  be  covetous,  and  their  strengths  rich. 
Because  the  decay  of  either  is  a  point  of  ill  huswifery,  and  they 
that  are  first  bankrupt  shut  up  their  doors. 

In  this  estate  of  niinds,  only  governed  by  the  unwritten  laws 
of  Nature,  you  did  at  the  beginning  live  happily  together. 
Wherein  there  is  a  lively  image  of  that  Golden  Age,  which  the 
allegories  of  the  poets  figure  unto  us.  For  there  Equality  guided 
without  absoluteness.  Earth  yielded  fruit  without  labour.  Desert 
perished  in  reward,  the  names  of  Wealth  and  Poverty  were 
strange,  no  owing  in  particular,  no  private  improving  of  humours, 
the  traffic  being  love  for  love  ;  and  the  exchange  all  for  all  : 
exorbitant  abundance  being  never  curious  in  those  self-seeking 
arts,  which  tear  up  the  bowels  of  the  Earth  for  the  private  use  of 
more  than  milk  and  honey.  Notwithstanding,  since  in  the  vicissi- 
tude of  things  and  times,  there  must  of  necessity  follow  a  Brazen 
Age,  there  ought  to  be  a  discreet  care  in  love  ;  in  respect  the 


LORD  BROOKE  43 1 


advantage  will  prove  theirs  that  first  usurp,  and  breaking  through 
the  laws  of  Nature,  strive  to  set  down  their  own  reaches  of  will. 

Here  Madame,  had  it  been  in  your  power,  you  should  have 
framed  that  second  way  of  peace,  studying  to  keep  him  from  evil, 
whose  corruption  could  not  be  without  misfortune  to  you.  For 
there  is  no  man,  but  doth  first  fall  from  his  duties  to  himself, 
before  he  can  fall  away  from  his  duty  to  others.  This  second 
way  is,  that  where  affection  is  made  but  the  gold,  to  hold  a  jewel 
far  more  precious  than  it  self:  I  mean  respect  and  reverence; 
which  two  powers,  well  mixed,  have  exceeding  strong  and  strange 
variety  of  working.  For  instance,  take  Coriolanus,  who  — 
Plutarch  saith — loved  worthiness  for  his  mother's  sake.  And 
though  true  love  contain  them  both,  yet  because  our  corruption 
hath,  by  want  of  differences,  both  confounded  words  and  beings, 
I  must  vulgarly  distinguish  names,  as  they  are  current. 

(From  a  Letter  sent  to  an  honourable  Lady.) 


THE  EXCELLENCE  OF   DUTY 

Therefore  noble  Lady,  as  the  straight  line  shews  both  it  self 
and  the  crooked  :  so  doth  an  upright  course  of  life,  yield  all  true 
ways  of  advantage,  and  by  mastering  our  own  affections,  ana- 
tomizeth  all  inferior  passions,  making  known  the  distinct  branches 
out  of  which  the  higher  powers  of  kindness,  respect,  and  admira- 
tion do  arise.  A  map,  wherein  we  may  by  the  same  wisdom  of 
moderation,  choose  for  ourselves  that  which  is  least  in  the  power 
of  others.  Besides,  it  plainly  discovers  that  jealousy  acknow- 
ledgeth  advantage  of  worth,  and  so  becomes  the  triumph  of 
libertines  ;  that  grief  is  the  punishment  of  wrong,  or  right  ill-used. 
Curiosity  ever  returns  ill  news  ;  anger,  how  great  soever  it  seems, 
is  but  a  little  humour,  springing  from  opinion  of  contempt ;  her 
causes  less  than  vices,  and  so  not  worthy  to  be  loved  or  hated  ; 
but  viewed,  as  lively  images  to  shew  the  strength  and  yet  frailty 
of  all  passions — which  passions  being  but  diseases  of  the  mind, 
do  so  disease — like  thirst  after  false  remedies  and  deceiving 
visions;  as  the  weak  become  terrified  with  those  glow-worm 
lights,  out  of  which  wise  subjects  often  fashion  arts  to  govern 
absolute  monarchs  by.  For  Madame,  as  nourishment  which 
feeds   and   maintains  our   life,   is  yet  the   perfect   pledge  of  our 


432  ENGLISH  PRO'E 


mortality  :  so  are  these  light-moved  passions  true  and  assured 
notes  of  little  natures,  placed  in  what  great  estates  soever, 
liesides,  by  this  practice  of  obedience,  there  grow  many  more 
commodities.  Since  first,  there  is  no  loss  in  duty  ;  so  as  you 
must  at  the  least  win  of  your  self  by  it,  and  either  make  it  easy 
for  you  to  become  unfortunate,  or  at  least  find  an  easy  and 
honourable  passage  out  of  her  intricate  lines  and  circles.  Again, 
if  it  be  true,  which  the  philosophers  hold,  that  virtues  and  vices, 
disagreeing  in  all  things  else,  yet  agree  in  this  ;  that  where  there 
is  one  in  esse,  in  posse  there  are  all  :  then  cannot  any  excellent 
faculty  of  the  mind  be  alone,  but  it  must  needs  have  wisdom, 
patience,  piety,  and  all  other  enemies  of  Chance  to  accompany  it  ; 
as  against  and  amongst  all  storms,  a  calmed  and  calming  Mens 

adepta. 

(From  the  Same.) 


WILLIAM    WEBBE 

[A  Discourse  of  English  Poetrie  (1586)  was  written  by  William  Webbe,  a 
Cambridge  scholar,  while  tutor  to  the  sons  of  Mr.  Edward  Sulyard  at  the 
manor-house  of  Flemyngs  in  Essex.  Little  is  known  of  Webbe  apart  from  his 
treatise.  He  was  a  friend  of  Robert  Wilmot,  one  of  the  authors  of  the  "  sen- 
tentiously  composed"  tragedy  of  Tancred  and  Gismunda,  and  wrote  a  letter 
to  him,  printed  in  Wilmot' s  revised  version  of  the  tragedy  in  1592.] 

Literary  criticism  was  not  to  be  found  in  England,  except  in  an 
occasional  and  parenthetical  form,  till  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
In  other  countries  there  had  been  earlier  essays  in  this  field,  of 
which  Dante's  treatise  de  Vulgari  Eloquio  is  the  chief,  while  there 
are  others,  the  Provencal  Rasos  de  Trobar,  the  Art  de  diciier  et 
faire  balades  of  Eustache  Ueschamps,  and  the  letter  of  the  Marquis 
of  Santillana  to  the  Constable  of  Portugal,  in  which  various  por- 
tions of  the  subject  are  dealt  with,  from  the  elements  of  grammar 
to  the  universal  history  of  the  poetic  art. 

In  few  of  the  earlier  pieces  of  criticism  in  English  is  there 
much  breadth  of  view  ;  none,  except  Sidney's  Apology^  goes 
much  beyond  the  rudiments  of  verse  on  the  one  hand,  or 
commonplace  disquisitions  on  the  utility  of  poetr>'  on  the  other. 
Prosody  was  one  of  the  principal  objects  of  attention  ;  the  litera- 
ture dealing  with  it  ranges  from  Gascoigne's  Notes  of  Instruction 
to  the  various  documents  in  favour  of  the  classical  forms  of  verse, 
and  from  these  to  Campion's  advocacy  of  rhymeless  but  not 
classical  forms,  and  Daniel's  Defence  of  Rhyme.  The  debate  on 
the  value  of  poetr>%  which  called  out  Sidney's  Apology.,  is  mainly 
connected  with  the  Puritan  assault  on  the  theatres,  but  goes  on 
independently.  The  fullest  Elizabethan  summary  of  all  the  popu- 
lar hypocrisies  about  poetry  is  Harington's  introduction  to  his 
Orlando  Furioso,  taken  along  with  his  moral  and  edifying  applica- 
tions of  each  canto  of  that  poem. 

Webbe's  essay  refers   directly  to  Gascoigne's  Notes  of  Instruc- 
VOl..  1  433  2  F 


434  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Hon  CO  fleer /ling  the  making  of  verse  or  rhyme  in  English,  published 
in  1575  ;  it  does  not  improve  on  them.  Gascoigne's  advice  to 
poets  is  a  plain  statement  of  elementary  rules  ;  a  sensible  explana- 
tion of  English  metre  and  English  forms  of  stanza,  the  Rime 
Royal,  the  Sonnet,  and  others.  Such  doctrine  was  not  superfluous 
at  that  time  ;  and  it  came  none  too  soon,  to  help  to  drill  the  sham- 
bling and  self-satisfied  doggerel  of  the  common  rhymers  into 
something  like  humanity.  There  is  nothing  very  complicated  or 
subtle  in  Gascoigne's  notes  ;  they  fall  in  with  the  Provencal  gram- 
marian, in  recognising  the  practical  advantages  of  a  rhyming 
dictionary  : — "  To  help  you  a  little  with  rhyme  (which  is  also  a 
plain  young  scholar's  lesson)  work  thus  :  when  you  have  set  down 
your  first  verse,  take  the  last  word  thereof,  and  count  over  all  the 
words  of  the  selfsame  sound  by  order  of  the  alphabets  ;  as  for 
example  the  last  word  of  your  first  line  is  care;  to  rhyme  there- 
with you  have  bare,  dare,  dare,  fare,  gare,  hare,  and  share,  inare, 
snare,  rare,  stare,  and  ware,  etc.  Of  all  these  take  that  which 
best  may  serve  your  purpose,  carrying  reason  with  rhyme  ;  and  if 
none  of  them  will  serve  so,  then  alter  the  last  word  of  your  former 
verse,  but  yet  do  not  willingly  alter  the  meaning  of  your  invention." 
Gascoigne's  sound  judgment  is  shown  in  his  regret  that  all 
English  verse  should  be  reduced  to  the  iambic,  whereas  "  we  have 
used  in  times  past  other  kinds  of  metres,"  and  also  in  his  remarks 
on  that  dull  fashion  of  poetry  common  in  his  time,  which  made 
couplets  of  an  Alexandrine  and  a  fourteen-syllable  line  alternately. 
Gascoigne  calls  this  "  poulter's  measure,  which  giveth  xii.  for 
one  dozen,  and  xiv.  for  another,"  and  dismisses  it  to  the  hymn- 
books,  where  it  may  still  be  found  :  "  The  long  verse  of  twelve 
and  fouretene  syllables,  although  it  be  nowadayes  vsed  in  all 
Theames,  yet  in  my  iudgment  it  would  serve  best  for  Psalmes  and 
Himpnes," 

Webbe  founds  his  discourse  on  Ascham's  Schoolmaster,  especi- 
ally in  the  theory  that  rhyme  was  brought  first  into  Italy  by  the 
"  Hunnes  and  Gothians."  He  does  not  quite  share  Ascham's  con- 
tempt for  "  our  rude  and  beggarly  rhyming  "  :  he  admires  Phaer's 
"  famous  translation  "  of  Virgil  into  the  eights  and  sixes  which 
Ascham  slighted.  But  he  also,  though  somewhat  "  in  the  rearward 
of  the  fashion,"  attaches  himself  to  Gabriel  Harvey,  and  contributes 
some  arguments  in  favour  of  the  "  reformed  kind  of  English 
verse  "  ;  he  offers  with  much  satisfaction  some  of  his  own  hex- 
ameters, to  the  extent  of  two  Eclogues  of  Virgil — 


WILLIAM  WEBBE  435 


"  Tityrus  happily  thou  h'st  tumbling  under  a  beech-tree," 

and  so  forth  ;    and  a   version  of  Hobbinol's   praise  of   Eliza   in 
the  Shepherds  Calendar^  done  into  Sapphics. 

The  Discourse  is  full  of  interest,  as  an  example  of  average 
literary  opinions  of  a  certain  type.  Webbe's  appreciation  of  the 
"  new  poet  "  of  the  Shepherd^ s  Calendar  is  sincere  ;  his  learning  is 
rather  casual,  his  judgment  rather  wavering  and  apt  to  be  con- 
trolled by  other  people's  opinion.  But  his  Discourse  is  published 
as  a  "small  trauell,''  "not  as  an  exquisite  censure  concerning  this 
matter." 

W.  P.  Ker. 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  ENGLISH   POETS 

The  first  of  our  English  poets  that  I  have  heard  of  was 
John  Gower,  about  the  time  of  King  Richard  the  second,  as  it 
should  seem  by  certain  conjectures  both  a  knight,  and  question- 
less a  singular  well  learned  man  :  whose  works  I  could  wish  they 
were  all  whole  and  perfect  among  us,  for  no  doubt  they  contained 
very  much  deep  knowledge  and  delight  :  which  may  be  gathered  by 
his  friend  Chaucer,  who  speaketh  of  him  oftentimes,  in  divers  places 
of  his  works.  Chaucer,  who  for  that  excellent  fame  which  he 
obtained  in  his  poetry,  was  always  accounted  the  god  of  English 
poets  (such  a  title  for  honour's  sake  hath  been  given  him)  was 
next  after,  if  not  equal  in  time  to  Gower,  and  hath  left  many 
works,  both  for  delight  and  profitable  knowledge,  far  exceeding 
any  other  that  as  yet  ever  since  his  time  directed  their  studies 
that  way.  Though  the  manner  of  his  style  may  seem  blunt  and 
coarse  to  many  fine  English  ears  at  these  days,  yet  in  truth,  if  it 
be  equally  pondered,  and  with  good  judgment  advised,  and  con- 
firmed with  the  time  wherein  he  wrote,  a  man  shall  perceive 
thereby  even  a  true  picture  or  perfect  shape  of  a  right  poet.  He, 
by  his  delightsome  vein,  so  gulled  the  ears  of  men  with  his  devices, 
that,  although  corruption  bare  such  sway  in  most  matters,  that 
learning  and  truth  might  scant  be  admitted  to  shew  it  self,  yet 
without  controlment,  might  he  gird  at  the  vices  and  abuses  of 
all  states,  and  gall  with  very  sharp  and  eager  inventions,  which  he 
did  so  learnedly  and  pleasantly,  that  none  therefore  would  call 
him  into  question.  For  such  was  his  bold  spirit,  that  what 
enormities  he  saw  in  any,  he  would  not  spare  to  pay  them  home, 
either  in  plain  words,  or  else  in  some  pretty  and  pleasant  covert, 
that  the  simplest  might  espy  him. 

Near  in  time  unto  him  was  Lydgate,  a  poet,  surely,  for  good 
proportion  of  his  verse,  and  meetly  current  style,  as  the  time 
afforded,  comparable  with  Chaucer,  yet  more  occupied  in  super- 

436 


WILLIAM  IVEBBE  437 


stitious  and  odd  matters  than  was  requisite  in  so  good  a  wit  : 
which,  though  he  handled  them  commendably,  yet  the  matters 
themselves  being  not  so  commendable,  his  estimation  hath  been 
the  less.  The  next  of  our  ancient  poets,  that  I  can  tell  of,  I 
suppose  to  be  Piers  Ploughma?t^  who  in  his  doings  is  somewhat 
harsh  and  obscure,  but  indeed  a  very  pithy  writer,  and  (to  his 
commendation  I  speak  it)  was  the  first  that  I  have  seen,  that 
observed  the  quantity  of  our  verse  without  the  curiosity  of  rhyme. 

Since  these  I  know  none  other  till  the  time  of  Skelton,  who 
writ  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the  eighth,  who  as  indeed  he 
obtained  the  laurel  garland,  so  may  I  with  good  right  yield  him 
the  title  of  a  poet  :  he  was  doubtless  a  pleasant  conceited  fellow, 
and  of  a  very  sharp  wit,  exceeding  bold,  and  would  nip  to  the  very 
quick  where  he  once  set  hold.  Next  him  I  think  I  may  place 
Master  George  Gascoyne,  as  painful  a  soldier  in  the  affairs  of  his 
prince  and  country,  as  he  was  a  witty  poet  in  his  writing  :  whose 
commendations,  because  I  found  in  one  of  better  judgment  than 
my  self,  I  will  set  down  his  words,  and  suppress  mine  own  :  of  him 
thus  writeth  E.  K.  upon  the  ninth  AUglogue  of  the  new  poet  : —  ^ 

"  Master  George  Gascoyne,  a  witty  gentleman  and  the  very 
chief  of  our  late  rhymers,  who,  and  if  some  parts  of  learning 
wanted  not  (albeit  it  is  well  known  he  altogether  wanted  not  learn- 
ing) no  doubt  would  have  attained  to  the  excellency  of  those 
famous  poets.  For  gifts  of  wit  and  natrral  promptness  appear 
in  him  abundantly." 

I  might  next  speak  of  the  divers  works  of  the  old  Earl  of 
Surrey :  of  the  Lord  Vaux  of  Norton,  of  Bristow,  Edwardes, 
Tusser,  Churchyard,  Will  Hunnis,  Heywood,  Sand,  Hyll,  S.  Y., 
M.  D.,  and  many  others,  but  to  speak  of  their  several  gifts, 
and  abundant  skill  shewed  forth  by  them  in  many  pretty  and 
learned  works,  would  make  my  discourse  much  more  tedious. 

I  may  not  omit  the  deserved  commendations  of  many  honour- 
able and  noble  lords  and  gentlemen,  in  her  majesty's  court, 
which  in  the  rare  devices  of  poetry,  have  been  and  yet  are  most 
excellent  skilful,  among  whom,  the  right  honourable  Earl  of 
Oxford  may  challenge  to  him  self  the  title  of  the  most  excellent 
among  the  rest.  I  can  no  longer  forget  those  learned  gentlemen 
which  took  such  profitable  pains  in  translating  the  Latin  poets 
into  our  English  tongue,  whose  deserts  in  that  behalf  are  more 
than  I  can  utter.  Among  these,  I  ever  esteemed,  and  while  I 
^  Spenser's  Shepheard' s  Calendar,  November  •   Gloss  by  E.  K. 


438  ENGLISH  PROSE 


live,  in  my  conceit  I  shall  account  Master  D.  Phaer  without 
doubt  the  best :  who  as  indeed  he  had  the  best  piece  of  poetry 
whereon  to  set  a  most  gallant  verse,  so  performed  he  it  accord- 
ingly, and  in  such  sort,  as  in  my  conscience  I  think  would  scarcely 
be  done  again,  if  it  were  to  do  again.  Notwithstanding,  I  speak 
it  but  as  mine  own  fancy,  not  prejudicial  to  those  that  list  to 
think  otherwise.  His  work  whereof  I  speak,  is  the  enlightening 
of  ALiieidos  of  Virgil,  so  far  forth  as  it  pleased  God  to  spare  him 
life,  which  was  to  the  half  part  of  the  tenth  book,  the  rest  being 
since  with  no  less  commendations  finished,  by  that  worthy  scholar 
and  famous  physician  Master  Thomas  Twyne. 

Equally  with  him  may  I  well  adjoin  Master  Arthur  Golding, 
for  his  labour  in  Englishing  Ovid's  Alctaviorphosis,  for  which 
gentleman,  surely  our  country  hath  for  many  respects  greatly  to 
give  God  thanks,  as  for  him  which  hath  taken  infinite  pains 
without  ceasing,  travaileth  as  yet  indefatigably,  and  is  addicted 
without  society,  by  his  continual  labour,  to  profit  this  nation  and 
speech  in  all  kind  of  good  learning.  The  next,  very  well 
deserveth  Master  Barnaby  Googe  to  be  placed,  as  a  painful 
furtherer  of  learning,  his  help  to  poetry  besides  his  own  devices, 
as  the  translating  of  Palingenius'  Zodiac.  Abraham  Flemming 
as  in  many  pretty  poesies  of  his  own,  so  in  translating  hath  done 
to  his  commendations.  To  whom  I  would  here  adjoin  one  of  his 
name,  whom  I  know  to  have  excelled,  as  well  in  all  kinds  of 
learning  as  in  poetry  most  especially,  and  would  appear  so,  if  the 
dainty  morsels,  and  fine  poetical  inventions  of  his,  were  as 
common  abroad  as  I  know  they  be  among  some  of  his  friends. 
I  will  crave  leave  of  the  laudable  authors  of  Seneca  in  English, 
of  the  other  parts  of  Ovid,  of  Horace,  of  Mantuan,  and  divers 
other,  because  I  would  hasten  to  end  this  rehearsal,  perhaps 
offensive  to  some,  whom  either  by  forgetfulness  or  want  of  know- 
ledge, I  must  needs  over  pass. 

And  once  again,  I  am  humbly  to  desire  pardon  of  the  learned 
company  of  gentlemen  scholars,  and  students  of  the  universities, 
and  Inns  of  Court,  if  I  omit  their  several  commendations  in  this 
place,  which  I  know  a  great  number  of  them  have  worthily 
deserved,  in  many  rare  devices,  and  singular  inventions  of  poetry  : 
for  neither  hath  it  been  my  good  hap  to  have  seen  all  which  I 
have  heard  of,  neither  is  my  abiding  in  such  place,  where  I  can 
with  facility  get  knowledge  of  their  works. 

One  gentleman  notwithstanding  among  them  may  I  not  over- 


WILLIAM  WEB  BE  439 


slip,  so  far  reacheth  his  fame,  and  so  worthy  is  he,  if  he  have  not 
already,  to  wear  the  laurel  wreath,  Master  George  Whetstone,  a 
man  singularly  well  skilled  in  this  faculty  of  poetry  :  to  him  I 
will  join  Anthony  Munday,  an  earnest  travailer  in  this  art,  and  in 
whose  name  I  have  seen  very  excellent  works,  among  which 
surely,  the  most  exquisite  vein  of  a  witty  poetical  head  is  shewed  in 
the  sweet  sobs  of  shepherds  and  nymphs,  a  work  well  worthy  to  be 
viewed,  and  to  be  esteemed  as  very  rare  poetry.  With  these  I  may 
place  John  Graunge,  Knight,  Wilmot,  Darrell,  F.  C.,  F.  K.,  G.  B., 
and  many  other,  whose  names  come  not  now  to  my  remembrance. 

This  place  have  I  purposely  reserved  for  one,  who  if  not  only, 
yet  in  my  judgment  principally  deserveth  the  title  of  the  rightest 
English  poet,  that  ever  I  read  :  that  is,  the  author  of  the 
Shepheard's  Calendar^  intituled  to  the  worthy  gentleman  Master 
Philip  Sydney,  whether  it  was  Master  Sp.  or  what  rare  Scholar 
in  Pembroke  Hall  soever,  because  himself  and  his  friends,  for 
what  respect  I  know  not,  would  not  reveal  it,  I  force  not  greatly 
to  set  down  :  sorry  I  am  that  I  can  not  find  none  other  with 
whom  I  might  couple  him  in  this  catalogue,  in  his  rare  gift  of 
poetry  :  although  one  there  is,  though  now  long  since  seriously 
occupied  in  graver  studies  (Master  Gabriel  Harvey),  yet,  as  he 
was  once  his  most  special  friend  and  fellow  poet,  so  because  he 
hath  taken  such  pains,  not  only  in  his  Latin  poetry  (for  which  he 
enjoyed  great  commendations  of  the  best  both  in  judgment  and 
dignity  in  this  realm)  but  also  to  reform  our  English  verse,  and 
to  beautify  the  same  with  brave  devices,  of  which  I  think  the 
chief  lie  hid  in  hateful  obscurity  ;  therefore  will  I  adventure  to 
set  them  together,  as  two  of  the  rarest  wits,  and  learnedst  masters 
of  poetry  in  England.  Whose  worthy  and  notable  skill  in  this 
faculty,  I  would  wish  if  their  high  dignities  and  serious  businesses 
would  permit,  they  would  still  grant  to  be  a  furtherance  to  that 
reformed  kind  of  poetry,  which  Master  Harvey  did  once  begin  to 
ratify  :  and  surely  in  mine  opinion,  if  he  had  chosen  some  graver 
matter,  and  handled  but  with  half  that  skill,  which  I  know  he 
could  have  done,  and  not  poured  it  forth  at  a  venture,  as  a  thing 
between  jest  and  earnest,  it  had  taken  greater  effect  than  it  did. 

As  for  the  other  gentleman,  if  it  would  please  him  or  his 
friends  to  let  those  excellent  poems,  whereof  I  know  he  hath 
plenty,  come  abroad,  as  his  Dreams,  his  Legends,  his  Court  of 
Cupid,  his  English  Poet,  with  other  :  he  should  not  only  stay  the 
rude  pens  of  myself  and  others,  but  also  satisfy  the  thirsty  desires 


440  ENGLISH  PROSE 


of  many  which  desire  nothing  more,  than  to  see  more  of  his  rare 
inventions.  If  I  join  to  Master  Harvey  his  two  brethren,  I  am  as- 
sured, though  they  be  both  busied  with  great  and  weighty  caHings 
(the  one  a  godly  and  learned  divine,  the  other  a  famous  and  skilful 
physician)  yet  if  they  listed  to  set  to  their  helping  hands  to  poetry, 
they  would  as  much  beautify  and  adorn  it  as  any  others. 

If  I  let  pass  the  uncountable  rabble  of  rhyming  ballad  makers 
and  compilers  of  senseless  sonnets,  who  be  most  busy  to  stuff 
every  stall  full  of  gross  devices  and  unlearned  pamphlets,  I  trust 
I  shall  with  the  best  sort  be  held  excused.  Nor  though  many 
such  can  frame  an  alehouse  song  of  five  or  six  score  verses, 
hobbling  upon  some  tune  of  a  Northern  jig  or  Robiii  Hood,  or 
La  lubber,  etc.,  and  perhaps  observe  just  number  of  syllables, 
eight  in  one  line,  six  in  an  other,  and  there  withal  an  A  to  make 
a  jerk  in  the  end  :  yet  if  these  might  be  accounted  poets  (as  it  is 
said  some  of  them  make  means  to  be  promoted  to  the  laurel) 
surely  we  shall  shortly  have  whole  swarms  of  poets,  and  every 
one  that  can  frame  a  book  in  rhyme,  though  for  want  of  matter 
it  be  but  in  commendations  of  copper  noses  or  bottle  ale,  will 
catch  at  the  garland  due  to  poets :  those  potticall  poetical  (I 
should  say)  heads,  I  would  wish,  at  their  worshipful  commence- 
ments might  in  stead  of  laurel  be  gorgeously  garnished  with 
fair  green  barley,  in  token  of  their  good  affection  to  our  English 
malt.  One  ^  speaketh  thus  homely  of  them,  with  whose  words  I 
will  content  myself  for  this  time,  because  I  would  not  be  too 
broad  with  them  in  mine  own  speech  : — 

"  In  regard  (he  meaneth  of  the  learned  framing  [of]  the  new 
poet's  works  which  writ  the  Shepheard's  Cale7idar^  I  scorn  and 
spue  out  the  rakehelly  rout  of  our  ragged  rhymers  (for  so  them- 
selves use  to  hunt  the  letter)  which  without  learning  boast,  without 
judgment  jangle,  without  reason  rage  and  fume,  as  if  some  instinct 
of  poetical  spirit  had  newly  ravished  them  above  the  meanest  of 
common  capacity.  And  being  in  the  midst  of  all  their  bravery, 
suddenly  for  want  of  matter,  or  of  rhyme,  or  having  forgotten 
their  former  conceit,  they  seem  to  be  so  pained  and  travailed  in 
their  remembrance,  as  it  were  a  woman  in  childbirth,  or  as  that 
same  Pythia  when  the  trance  came  upon  her,  os  rabidum  fera 
cor  da  damans^  etc.'''' 

(From  A  Discourse  of  English  Poetry.') 

^  Shepheard' s  Calendar,  Epistle  to  Gabriel  Harvey  by  E.   K. 


GEORGE    PUTTENHAM 

[Tke  Art  of  English  Poesie  is  ascribed  by  Edmund  Bolton,  in  the  reign  of 
James  I.,  to  Puttenham,  one  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  gentlemen  pensioners.  It 
is  probable  that  George  Puttenham  was  the  author.  Of  the  author's  life  and 
other  works  (most  of  them  lost)  there  are  many  particulars  in  the  book  itself, 
which  have  been  brought  together  by  Mr.  Arber  in  his  edition  (1869).  The. 
Partheniades,  poems  presented  by  the  author  as  a  New  Year's  gift  to  the 
Queen  in  1579,  are  printed  in  Mr.  Haslewood's  edition  {Ancient  Critical 
Essays,  181 1).] 

"  The  elegant,  witty,  and  artificial  book  of  The  Art  of  English 
Poetry^''  as  it  is  called  by  the  first  and  chief  witness  who 
ascribes  it  to  Puttenham,  appeared  anonymously  in  1589, 
addressed  to  the  Queen,  with  a  publisher's  dedication  to  Lord 
Burghley.  It  is  a  systematic  work,  different  in  scale  from  Webbe's 
Discourse^  and  still  more  from  Gascoigne's  informal  Notes.  The 
author  was  himself  a  poet  of  some  experience,  having  at  the  age 
of  eighteen  written  an  Eclogue  to  King  Edward  VI.,  and  followed 
that  with  a  variety  of  other  works — comedies  and  interludes,  a 
"Romance  or  historical  ditty  of  the  Isle  of  Great  Britain,"  "an 
Hympne  to  the  Queenes  Maiestie,"  besides  the  Partheniades.  His 
essay  is  brisk  and  confident,  as  becomes  the  work  of  a  man  who 
has  lived  in  Courts,  and  bestowed  some  of  his  time  upon  the 
tongues.  The  author,  whoever  he  may  have  been,  is  certainly 
convinced  that  there  never  was  a  time  that  he  has  "  positively 
said,  "Tis  so,'  when  it  proved  otherwise."  He  talks  of  all  poetry 
as  if  it  belonged  to  him,  and  deals  out  condescendingly  "  your 
iambus,"  "  your  trocheus,"  "  your  polysyllable."  His  purpose  is 
to  instruct  "our  courtly  maker,"  as  well  as  to  delight  all  who 
have  any  interest  in  "courtly  ditties."  That  ladies  in  Court 
will  read  him  is  not  beyond  his  hopes.  The  first  chapter  and 
the  first  book,  alike,  end  with  a  decided  opinion  that  the  Queen 
is  the  best  poet  of  the  time :  "  Be  it  in  Ode,  Elegie,  Epigram,  or 
441 


442  ENGLISH  PROSE 


any  other  kind  of  poeme,  Heroick  or  Lyricke,  wherein  it  shall 
please  her  Majestie  to  employ  her  penne." 

There  are  three  books :  the  first  dealing  with  poetry  in 
general,  and  discussing  the  different  kinds,  mainly  in  a  pleasant 
easy  way,  which  professes  to  be  historical,  and  to  show  how  the 
different  kinds  arose,  but  without  any  distressful  anxiety  about 
names  and  dates.  The  last  chapter  gives  an  account  of  the 
English  poets,  and  acknowledges  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  the  elder, 
and  Henry,  Earl  of  Surrey,  as  "the  first  reformers  of  our  English 
metre  and  style."  It  naturally  covers  much  the  same  ground  as 
Webbe's  historical  summary ;  it  is  much  less  free  in  its  praises, 
and  less  tolerant. 

The  second  book  is  "  Of  Proportion  Poetical,"  that  is,  of 
prosody.  It  may  be  gauged  by  two  remarks:  one,  that  "the 
meeter  of  ten  sillables  .  .  .  must  have  his  Cesure  fall  upon  the 
fourth  sillable,  and  leave  sixe  behind  him  ;"  the  other,  that  while 
the  verse — 

"Solomon,  David's  sonne,  King  of  Jerusalem," 

is  a  very  good  Alexandrine,  it  would  have  been  better  if  it  had 
not  begun  with  a  dactyl,  "  which  oddness  is  nothing  pleasant  to 
the  ear."  This  book  contains  full  receipts  for  poetical  lozenges 
and  eggs,  "  the  Fuzie  or  Spindle,"  and  other  devices. 

The  third  book,  "  Of  Ornament,"  deals  with  figures  of  speech, 
and  is  as  long  as  the  other  two,  with  elaborate  illustrations, 
chiefly  from  the  author's  own  poems.  Not  the  worst  part  of  it 
is  the  careful  rendering  of  all  the  Greek  rhetorical  terms  into 
English.  "  Irotiia^  or  the  dry  mock,  Sarcasmus,  or  the  bitter 
taunt,"  followed  by  the  "  fleering  frump,"  "  the  broad  flout,"  and 
"the  privy  nip."  The  concluding  chapters  on  Decorum,  with  their 
anecdotes  of  witty  speeches  and  repartees,  give  evidence  of  much 
the  same  standard  of  wit  as  is  observed  by  the  company  in  Swift's 
Polite  Conversation. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


ENGLISH    POETS 

It  appeareth  by  sundry  records  of  books  both  printed  and 
written,  that  many  of  our  countrymen  have  painfully  travailed  in 
this  part  :  of  whose  works  some  appear  to  be  but  bare  translations, 
other  some  matters  of  their  own  invention  and  very  commendable, 
whereof  some  recital  shall  be  made  in  this  place,  to  the  intent 
chiefly  that  their  names  should  not  be  defrauded  of  such  honour 
as  seemeth  due  to  them  for  having,  by  their  thankful  studies,  so 
much  beautified  our  English  tongue,  as  at  this  day  it  will  be  found 
our  nation  is  in  nothing  inferior  to  the  French  or  Italian  for  copie 
of  language,  subtilty  of  device,  good  method  and  proportion  in 
any  form  of  poem,  but  that  they  may  compare  with  the  most,  and 
perchance  pass  a  great  many  of  them.  And  I  will  not  reach 
above  the  time  of  king  Edward  the  third,  and  Richard  the  second 
for  any  that  wrote  in  English  metre  :  because  before  their  times 
by  reason  of  the  late  Norman  conquest,  which  had  brought  into 
this  realm  much  alteration  both  of  our  language  and  laws,  and 
therewithal  a  certain  martial  barbarousness,  whereby  the  study 
of  all  good  learning  was  so  much  decayed,  as  long  time  after  no 
man  or  very  few  entended  to  write  in  any  laudable  science  :  so  as 
beyond  that  time  there  is  little  or  nothing  worth  commendation  to 
be  found  written  in  this  art.  And  those  of  the  first  age  were 
Chaucer  and  Gower,  both  of  them,  as  I  suppose,  knights.  After 
whom  followed  John  Lydgate,  the  monk  of  Bury,  and  that  name- 
less who  wrote  the  satire  called  Piers  Plo%uvtan ;  next  him 
followed  Harding  the  chronicler,  then  in  king  Henry  VIII. 's  times 
Skelton,  (I  wot  not  for  what  great  worthiness)  surnamed  the  poet 
laureate.  In  the  latter  end  of  the  same  king's  reign  sprang  up  a 
new  company  of  courtly  makers,  of  whom  Sir  Thomas  W'yat  the 
elder  and  Henry  Earl  of  Surrey  were  the  two  chieftains  ;  who, 
having  travelled  into  Italy  and  there  tasted  the  sweet  and  stately 
measures  and  style  of  the  Italian  poesy,  as  novices  newly  crept 

443 


444  ENGLISH  PROSE 


out  of  the  schools  of  Dante,  Ariosto,  and  Petrarch,  they  greatly 
polished  our  rude  and  homely  manner  of  vulgar  poesy,  from  that 
it  had  been  before,  and  for  that  cause  may  justly  be  said  the  first 
reformers  of  our  English  metre  and  style.  In  the  same  time  or 
not  long  after  was  the  Lord  Nicholas  Vaux,  a  man  of  much  facility 
in  vulgar  makings.  Afterward,  in  King  Edward  tiie  sixth's  time, 
came  to  be  in  reputation  for  the  same  faculty  Thomas  Sternhold, 
who  first  translated  i-to  English  certain  Psalms  of  David,  and 
John  Heywood  the  epigrammatist  who,  for  the  mirth  and  quick- 
ness of  his  conceits  more  than  for  any  good  learning  was  in  him, 
came  to  be  well  benefited  by  the  king.  But  the  principal  man  in 
this  profession  at  the  same  time  was  Master  Edward  Eerrys,  a 
man  of  no  less  mirth  and  felicity  that  way,  but  of  much  more 
s":ill  and  magnificence  in  his  metre,  and  therefore  wrote  for  the 
most  part  to  the  stage,  in  tragedy  and  sometimes  in  comedy  or 
interlude,  wherein  he  gave  the  king  so  much  good  recreation,  as 
he  had  thereby  many  good  rewards.  In  Queen  Mary's  time 
flourished,  above  any  other,  Doctor  Phaer,  one  that  was  well 
learned,  and  excellently  well  translated  into  English  verse 
heroical  certain  books  of  Virgil's  ^neidos.  Since  him  followed 
Master  Arthur  Golding,  who  with  no  less  commendation  turned 
into  English  metre  the  Meiamorp/iosts  of  Ovid,  and  that  other 
Doctor,  who  made  the  supplement  to  those  books  of  VirgiPs 
^.neidos,  which  Master  Phaer  left  undone.  And,  in  her 
Majesty's  time  that  now  is,  are  sprung  up  another  crew  of 
courtly  makers,  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  her  Majesty's  own 
servants,  who  have  written  excellently  well  as  it  would  appear  if 
their  doings  could  be  found  out  and  made  publick  with  the  rest, 
of  which  number  is  first  that  noble  gentleman  Edward  Earl  of 
Oxford,  Thomas  Lord  of  Buckhurst,  when  he  was  young,  Henry 
Lord  Paget,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Master 
Edward  Dyar,  Master  Fulke  Greville,  Gascon,  Britton,  Turber- 
ville,  and  a  great  many  other  learned  gentlemen,  whose  names  I 
do  not  omit  for  envy,  but  to  avoid  tediousness,  and  who  have 
deserved  no  little  commendation.  But  of  them  all  particularly 
this  is  mine  opinion,  that  Chaucer,  with  Gower,  Lydgate,  and 
Harding,  for  their  antiquity  ought  to  have  the  first  place,  and 
Chaucer  as  the  most  renowned  of  them  all,  for  the  much  learning 
appeareth  to  be  in  him  above  any  of  the  rest.  And  though  many 
of  his  books  be  but  bare  translations  out  of  the  Latin  and  French, 
yet  are  they  well  handled,  as  his  books  of  Troilus  and  Cressida  ; 


GEORGE  rUTTENHAM  445 

and  the  Rojiiativt  of  tJie  Rose,  whereof  he  translated  but  one  half, 
the  device  was  John  dc  Mehune's,  a  French  Poet  ;  the  Canterbury 
Talcs  were  Chaucer's  own  invention  as  I  suppose,  and  where  he 
sheweth  more  the  natural  of  his  pleasant  wit,  than  in  any  other  of 
his  works,  his  similitudes,  comparisons,  and  all  other  descriptions 
are  such  as  can  not  be  amended.  His  metre  heroical  of  Troilus 
and  Cressida  is  very  grave  and  stately,  keeping  the  staff  of  seven, 
and  the  verse  of  ten,  his  other  verses  of  the  Canterbury  tales  be 
but  riding  rhyme,  nevertheless  very  well  becoming  the  matter  of 
that  pleasant  pilgrimage  in  which  every  man's  part  is  played  with 
much  decency.  Gower,  saving  for  his  good  and  grave  moralities, 
had  nothing  in  him  highly  to  be  commended,  for  his  verse  was 
homely  and  without  good  measure,  his  words  strained  much  deal 
out  of  the  French  writers,  his  rhyme  wrested,  and  in  his  inventions 
small  subtilty  :  the  applications  of  his  moralities  are  the  best  in 
him,  and  yet  those  many  times  very  grossly  bestowed,  neither 
doth  the  substance  of  his  works  sufficiently  answer  the  subtilty  of 
his  titles.  Lydgate,  a  translator  only  and  no  deviser  of  that  which 
he  wrote,  but  one  that  wrote  in  good  verse.  Harding,  a  poet 
epic  or  historical,  handled  himself  well  according  to  the  time  and 
manner  of  his  subject.  He  that  wrote  the  satire  of  Piers  Plow- 
man seemed  to  have  been  a  malcontent  of  that  time,  and  therefore 
bent  himself  wholly  to  tax  the  disorders  of  that  age,  and  specially 
the  pride  of  the  Roman  clergy,  of  whose  fall  he  seemeth  to  be  a 
very  true  prophet  ;  his  verse  is  but  loose  metre,  and  his  terms 
hard  and  obscure,  so  as  in  them  is  little  pleasure  to  be  taken. 
Skelton,  a  sharp  satirist,  but  with  more  railing  and  scofifery  than 
became  a  poet  laureate;  such  among  the  Greeks  were  called 
Pantomiini,  with  us  buffoons,  altogether  applying  their  wits  to 
scurrilities  and  other  ridiculous  matters.  Henry  Earl  of  Surrey 
and  Sir  Thomas  Wyat,  between  whom  I  find  very  little  difference, 
I  repute  them  (as  before)  for  the  two  chief  lanterns  of  light  to  all 
others  that  have  since  employed  their  pens  upon  English  poesy  ; 
their  conceits  were  lofty,  their  styles  stately,  their  conveyance 
cleanly,  their  terms  proper,  their  metre  sweet  and  well  propor- 
tioned, in  all  imitating  very  naturally  and  studiously  their  master 
Francis  Petrarch.  The  Lord  Vaux  his  commendation  licth  chiefly 
in  the  facility  of  his  metre,  and  the  aptness  of  his  descriptions, 
such  as  he  taketh  upon  him  to  make,  namely  in  sundry  of  his 
songs,  wherein  he  sheweth  the  counterfeit  action  very  lively  and 
pleasantly.      Of  the  later  sort  I   think  thus.      That  for  tragedy, 


446  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  Lord  of  Buckhurst,  and  Master  Edward  Ferrys,  for  such 
doings  as  I  have  seen  of  theirs  do  deserve  the  highest  price. 
The  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Master  Edwards  of  her  Majesty's  Chapel 
for  comedy  and  interlude.  For  eclogue  and  pastoral  poesy,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  and  Master  Challenner,  and  that  other  gentleman 
who  wrote  the  late  Shepherd's  Calendar.  For  ditty  and  amorous 
ode  I  find  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  vein  most  lofty,  insolent,  and 
passionate.  Master  Edward  Dyar,  for  elegy  most  sweet,  solemn 
and  of  high  conceit.  Gascon  for  a  good  metre  and  for  a  plentiful 
vein.  Phaer  and  Golding  for  a  learned  and  well  corrected  verse, 
specially  in  translation  clear  and  very  faithfully  answering  their 
author's  intent.  Others  have  also  written  with  much  facility,  but 
more  commendably  perchance  if  they  had  not  written  so  much 
nor  so  popularly.  But  last  in  recital  and  first  in  degree  is  the 
Queen  our  sovereign  Lady,  whose  learned,  delicate,  noble  muse 
easily  surmounteth  all  the  rest  that  have  written  before  her  time 
or  since,  for  sense,  sweetness  and  subtilty,  be  it  in  ode,  elegy, 
epigram,  or  any  other  kind  of  poem  heroic  or  lyric,  wherein  it 
shall  please  her  Majesty  to  employ  her  pen,  even  by  as  much 
odds  as  her  own  excellent  estate  and  degree  exceedeth  all  the 
rest  of  her  most  humble  vassals. 


(From  The  Art  of  English  Poesy.) 


WILLIAM  CECIL,  LORD  BURLEIGH 

[The  life  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  great  treasurer  belongs,  in  Horace  Walpole's 
phrase,  to  "the  annals  of  his  country."  Born  in  1520,  he  held  office  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI.,  retired  into  private  life  during  the  reign  of  Mary,  and 
was  Elizabeth's  prime  minister  for  forty  years,  till  his  death  in  1598.  The 
suspicion — it  is  no  more — that  he  defeated  his  thrifty  Mistress's  generous 
intentions  to  the  poet  Spenser  has  rather  prejudiced  him  with  men  of  letters. 
Against  this  may  be  set  his  early  friendship  with  Ascham,  who  gives  a  pleasing 
report  of  his  hospitality  to  men  of  learning.  His  own  contribution  to  letters  is 
the  brief  Ten  Precepts  to  his  Son,  first  published  in  1637,  and  since  then  often 
reprinted.] 

The  clue  to  the  character  of  Burleigh's  prose,  and  perhaps  also  to 
his  indifference  to  Spenser,  is  to  be  found  in  one  of  his  precepts — 
"Suffer  not  thy  sons  to  pass  the  Alps."  He  abhorred  Italian 
influence  in  every  shape  and  form,  on  literature  as  much  as  on 
morals  and  manners.  He  was  already  an  old  man,  near  sixty, 
when  the  tendency  to  "  Italianate  tenns "  culminated  in  Lyly's 
Euphues,  but  the  influence  had  been  at  work  for  many  years 
before.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  it  in  Burleigh's  prose.  In  this 
respect  it  is  distinguished  from  the  prose  of  his  nephew  Bacon, 
who  was  affected  not  a  little  by  the  fashion  of  the  new  generation. 
Burleigh  belongs  emphatically  to  the  old  school.  His  is  the  prose 
of  a  man  of  affairs,  concerned  chiefly  to  convey  his  meaning  clearly 
and  forcibly,  terse,  pithy,  compact,  disdainful  of  far-fetched  graces, 
but  not  insensible  to  the  effect  of  a  biting  epigram.  Such  illustra- 
tions as  he  uses  are  homely  and  apt.  Not  till  we  come  down  to 
Temple  and  Dryden,  do  we  find  a  diction  equal  to  Burleigh's  in 
simplicity  of  structure  and  in  the  homelier  virtues  of  good  prose. 

W.    MiNTO. 


447 


TEN  PRECEPTS 

Son  Robert — The  virtuous  inclinations  of  thy  matchless  mother, 
by  whose  tender  and  godly  care  thy  infancy  was  governed, 
together  with  thy  education  under  so  zealous  and  excellent  a 
tutor,  puts  me  in  rather  assurance  than  hope,  that  thou  art  not 
ignorant  of  that  summum  boniini^  which  is  only  able  to  make  thee 
happy  as  well  in  thy  death  as  life  ;  I  mean  the  true  knowledge 
and  worship  of  thy  Creator  and  Redeemer  ;  without  which  all 
other  things  are  vain  and  miserable  :  so  that  thy  youth  being 
guided  by  so  sufficient  a  teacher,  I  make  no  doubt  but  he  will 
furnish  thy  life  with  divine  and  moral  documents  ;  yet  that  I  may 
not  cast  off  the  care  beseeming  a  parent  towards  his  child  ;  or 
that  you  should  have  cause  to  derive  thy  whole  felicity  and  welfare 
rather  from  others  than  from  whence  thou  receivedst  thy  breath 
and  being  ;  I  think  it  fit  and  agreeable  to  the  affection  I  bear 
thee,  to  help  thee  with  such  rules  and  advertisements  for  the 
squaring  of  thy  life,  as  are  rather  gained  by  experience,  than 
much  reading  ;  to  the  end  that  entering  into  this  exorbitant  age, 
thou  mayest  be  the  better  prepared  to  shun  those  scandalous 
courses  whereunto  the  world  and  the  lack  of  experience  may  easily 
draw  thee.  And  because  I  will  not  confound  thy  memory,  I  have 
reduced  them  into  ten  precepts  ;  and  next  unto  Moses'  tables,  if 
thou  imprint  them  in  thy  mind,  thou  shalt  reap  the  benefit,  and  I 
the  content  ;  and  they  are  these  following  : — • 


When  it  shall  please  God  to  bring  thee  to  man's  estate,  use 
great  providence  and  circumspection  in  choosing  thy  wife  ;  for 
from  thence  will  spring  all  thy  future  good  or  evil  ;  and  it  is  an 
action  of  life,  like  unto  a  stratagem  of  war,  wherein  a  man  can 
err  but  once.      If  thy  estate  be  good,  match  near  home  and  at 

448 


WILLIAM  CECIL,  LORD  BURLEIGH  449 

leisure  ;  if  weak,  far  off  and  quickly.  Enquire  diligently  of  her 
disposition,  and  how  her  parents  have  been  inclined  in  their 
youth  ;  let  her  not  be  poor,  how  generous  soever  ;  for  a  man  can 
buy  nothing  in  the  market  with  gentility  ;  nor  choose  a  base  and 
uncomely  creature  altogether  for  wealth  ;  for  it  will  cause  con- 
tempt in  others  and  loathing  in  thee  ;  neither  make  choice  of  a 
dwarf,  or  a  fool ;  for  by  the  one  you  shall  beget  a  race  of  pigmies, 
the  other  will  be  thy  continual  disgrace,  and  it  -^WX  yirke  thee  to 
hear  her  talk  ;  for  thou  shalt  find  it,  to  thy  great  grief,  that  there 
is  nothing  more  fulsome  than  a  she-fool. 

And  touching  the  guiding  of  thy  house,  let  thy  hospitality  be 
moderate,  and  according  to  the  means  of  thy  estate  ;  rather  plenti- 
ful than  sparing,  but  not  costly  ;  for  I  never  knew  any  man  grow 
poor  by  keeping  an  orderly  table  ;  but  some  consume  themselves 
through  secret  vices,  and  their  hospitality  bears  the  blame  ;  but 
banish  swinish  drunkards  out  of  thine  house,  which  is  a  vice 
impairing  health,  consuming  much,  and  makes  no  show.  I  never 
heard  praise  ascribed  to  the  drunkard,  but  for  the  well  bearing  of 
his  drii  k,  which  is  better  commendation  for  a  brewer's  horse  or  a 
dray  man,  than  for  either  a  gentleman,  or  a  serving  man.  Beware 
thou  spend  not  above  three  or  four  parts  of  thy  revenues  ;  nor 
above  a  third  part  of  that  in  thy  house  ;  for  the  other  two  parts 
will  do  no  more  than  defray  thy  extraordinaries,  which  always  sur- 
mount the  ordinary  by  much  :  otherwise  thou  shalt  live  like  a  rich 
beggar,  in  continual  want  :  and  the  needy  man  can  never  live 
happily  or  contentedly  ;  for  every  disaster  makes  him  ready  to 
mortgage  or  sell  ;  and  that  gentleman  who  sells  an  acre  of  land, 
sells  an  ounce  of  credit,  for  gentility  is  nothing  else  but  ancient 
riches  ;  so  that  if  the  foundation  shall  at  any  time  sink,  the  build- 
ing must  need  follow.      So  much  for  the  first  precept. 


Bring  thy  children  up  in  learning  and  obedience,  yet  without 
outward  austerity.  Praise  them  openly,  reprehend  them  secretly. 
Give  them  good  countenance  and  convenient  maintenance  accord- 
ing to  thy  ability,  otherwise  thy  life  will  seem  their  bondage,  and 
what  portion  thou  shalt  leave  them  at  thy  death,  they  will  thank 
death  for  it,  and  not  thee.  And  I  am  persuaded  that  the  foolish 
cockering  of  some  parents,  and  the  overstern  carriage  of  others, 
causeth  more  men  and  women  to  take  ill  courses,  than  their  own 
VOL.  I  2  a 


450  ENGLISH  PROSE 


vicious  inclinations.  Marry  thy  daughters  in  time,  lest  they  marry 
themselves.  And  suffer  not  thy  sons  to  pass  the  Alps,  for  they 
shall  learn  nothing  there  but  pride,  blasphemy,  and  atheism. 
And  if  by  travel  they  get  a  few  broken  languages,  that  shall  profit 
them  nothing  more  than  to  have  one  meat  served  in  divers  dishes. 
Neither,  by  my  consent,  shalt  thou  train  them  up  in  wars  ;  for  he 
that  sets  up  his  rest  to  live  by  that  profession,  can  hardly  be  an 
honest  man  or  a  good  Christian  ;  besides  it  is  a  science  no  longer 
in  request  than  use ;  for  soldiers  in  peace,  are  like  chimneys  in 
summer. 

Ill 

Live  not  in  the  country  without  com  and  cattle  about  thee  ; 
for  he  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the  purse  for  every  expense  of 
household,  is  like  him  that  putteth  water  in  a  sieve.  And  what 
provision  thou  shalt  want,  learn  to  buy  it  at  the  best  hand  ;  for 
there  is  one  penny  saved  in  four,  betwixt  buying  in  thy  need,  and 
when  the  markets  and  seasons  serve  fittest  for  it.  Be  not  served 
with  kinsmen,  or  friends,  or  men  intreated  to  stay  ;  for  they  expect 
much  and  do  little  ;  nor  with  such  as  are  amorous,  for  their  heads 
are  intoxicated.  And  keep  rather  two  too  few,  than  one  too  many. 
Feed  them  well,  and  pay  them  with  the  most ;  and  then  thou 
mayest  boldly  require  service  at  their  hands. 


Let  thy  kindred  and  allies  be  welcome  to  thy  house  and  table  ; 
grace  them  with  thy  countenance,  and  farther  them  in  all  honest 
actions  ;  for  by  this  means,  thou  shalt  so  double  the  bond  of 
nature,  as  thou  shalt  find  them  so  many  advocates  to  plead  an 
apology  for  thee  behind  thy  back  ;  but  shake  off  those  glow- 
worms, I  mean  parasites  and  sycophants,  who  will  feed  and  fawn 
upon  thee  in  the  summer  of  prosperity,  but  in  adverse  storm,  they 
will  shelter  thee  no  more  than  an  harbour  in  winter. 


Beware  of  suretyship  for  thy  best  friends  ;  he  that  payeth 
another  man's  debts,  seeketh  his  own  decay  ;  but  if  thou  canst 
not  otherwise  choose,  rather  lend  thy  money  thyself  upon  good 
bonds,  although  thou  borrow  it ;  so  shalt  thou  secure  thyself,  and 


WILLIAM  CECIL,  LORD  BURLEIGH  451 

pleasure  thy  friend  ;  neither  borrow  money  of  a  neighbour  or  a 
friend,  but  of  a  stranger,  where  paying  it,  thou  shalt  hear  no  more 
of  it,  other\vise  thou  shalt  eclipse  thy  credit,  lose  thy  freedom,  and 
yet  pay  as  dear  as  to  another.  But  in  borrowing  of  money  be 
precious  of  thy  word,  for  he  that  hath  care  of  keeping  days  of 
payment,  is  lord  of  another  man's  purse. 

VI 

Undertake  no  suit  against  a  poor  man  without  receiving  much 
wrong  ;  for  besides  that  thou  makest  him  thy  compeer,  it  is  a 
base  conquest  to  triumph  where  there  is  small  resistance  ;  neither 
attempt  law  against  any  man  before  thou  be  fully  resolved  that 
thou  hast  right  on  thy  side  ;  and  then  spare  not  for  either  money 
or  pains  ;  for  a  cause  or  two  so  followed  and  obtained,  will  free 
thee  from  suits  a  great  part  of  thy  life. 


Be  sure  to  keep  some  great  man  thy  friend,  but  trouble  him 
not  with  trifles  ;  compliment  him  often  with  many,  yet  small  gifts, 
and  of  little  charge  ;  and  if  thou  hast  cause  to  bestow  any  great 
gratuity,  let  it  be  something  which  may  be  daily  in  sight  ;  other- 
wise in  this  ambitious  age,  thou  shalt  remain  like  a  hop  without 
a  pole  ;  live  in  obscurity,  and  be  made  a  football  for  every  insult- 
ing companion  to  spurn  at. 

VIII 

Towards  thy  superiors  be  humble,  yet  generous  ;  with  thine 
equals  familiar,  yet  respective  ;  towards  thine  inferiors  show  much 
humanity,  and  some  familiarity  ;  as  to  bow  the  body,  stretch  forth 
the  hand,  and  to  uncover  the  head,  with  such  like  popular  com- 
pliments. The  first  prepares  thy  way  to  advancement,  the  second 
makes  thee  known  for  a  man  well  bred,  the  third  gains  a  good 
report,  which  once  got  is  easily  kept  ;  for  right  humanity  takes 
such  deep  root  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude,  as  they  are  easilier 
gained  by  unprofitable  courtesies,  than  by  churlish  benefits  ;  yet 
I  advise  thee  not  to  affect  or  neglect  popularity  too  much  ;  seek 
not  to  be  Essex ;  shun  to  be  Raleigh. 


452  ENGLISH  PROSE 


IX 


Trust  not  any  man  with  thy  hfe,  credit,  or  estate  ;  for  it  is 
mere  folly  for  a  man  to  enthrall  himself  to  his  friend,  as  though, 
occasion  being  offered,  he  should  not  dare  to  become  his  enemy. 


Be  not  scurrilous  in  conversation  nor  satirical  in  thy  jests  ;  the 
one  will  make  thee  unwelcome  to  all  company,  the  other  pull  on 
quarrels,  and  get  thee  hatred  of  thy  best  friends  ;  for  suspicious 
jests,  when  any  of  them  savour  of  truth,  leave  a  bitterness  in  the 
minds  of  those  which  are  touched  ;  and,  albeit,  I  have  already 
pointed  at  this  inclusively,  yet  I  think  it  necessary  to  leave  it  to 
thee  as  a  special  caution  ;  because  I  have  seen  many  so  prone  to 
quip  and  gird,  as  they  would  rather  leese  their  friend  than  their 
jest ;  and  if,  perchance,  their  boiling  brain  yield  a  quaint  scoff, 
they  will  travail  to  be  delivered  of  it  as  a  woman  with  child. 
These  nimble  fancies  are  but  the  froth  of  wit. 


SPENSER 

[We  have  Spenser's  own  authority  for  stating  that  he  was  bom  in  London 
(see  Prothalamion) , 

Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name, 
An  house  of  ancient  fame. 

He  claimed  relationship  with  the  Spencers  of  Althorpe,  Northants  (see  Colin 
Clout's  Come  Hoine  Again,  1537-72,  and  the  dedications  of  The  Tears  of  the 
Muses,  of  Prosopopoia,  or  Mother  Hubbard' s  Tale,  of  Muiopotmos),  and  the 
claim  was  allowed.  But  the  connection  must  have  been  distant.  His  own 
branch  of  the  family  seems  to  have  belonged  to  Lancashire,  to  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Burnley  ;  and  there  are  several  signs  that  his  father,  who  by  the  time 
of  Edmund's  birth  had  migrated  south,  was  not  in  prosperous  circumstances. 
Of  his  mother  we  know  nothing  but  her  Christian  name,  which  was  Elizabeth 
{s&Q  Amorctti,  Ixxiv. )  From  Amoretti,  Ix. ,  written  it  is  fairly  certain  in  1593, 
it  is  plausibly  concluded  he  was  born  in  1552. 

He  was  educated  at  the  Merchant  Taylors'  School,  then  recently  founded  ; 
and  with  the  help  of  a  Lancashire  gentleman,  Mr.  Robert  Nowell,  went  as  a 
sizar  to  Pembroke  College,  Cambridge.  After  seven  years  at  the  University, 
where,  though  he  gathered  much  sound  learning,  he  did  not  academically  dis- 
tinguish himself,  he  probably  passed  some  time  with  his  family,  or  family  con- 
nections, in  Lancashire.  But  he  was  soon  called  back  to  London.  The  Earl 
of  Leicester  and  his  nephew.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  now  became  his  patrons  ;  and 
with  Sidney,  at  least,  he  formed  a  cordial  and  lasting  friendship.  Probably 
through  their  influence  he  at  last,  in  1580,  obtained  some  preferment  ;  he  was 
appointed  secretary  to  Lord  Arthur  Grey  of  Wilton,  who  was  then  proceeding 
to  Ireland  as  Lord  Deputy.  He  had  already  made  his  mark  as  a  poet  by  the 
publication  of  The  Shepherd's  Calendar  ;  and  had  already  begun  to  compose 
The  Faery  Queen  (see  his  friend  Gabriel  Harvey's  letter,  dated  April  7,  1580, 
and  his  own  to  Harvey  of  April  lo). 

Lord  Arthur  Grey,  after  suppressing  the  current  insurrection  (that  of  Shan 
O'  Neal  and  the  Earl  of  Desmond)  with  an  iron  hand,  was  recalled  in  1582. 
But  it  seems  clear  Spenser  did  not  return  with  him.  In  fact  Ireland  was  to  be 
his  home  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  though  there  are  several  indications  that  he 
was  far  from  content  with  such  a  lot ;  nor,  the  state  of  Ireland  at  that  time 
considered,  is  his  dissatisfaction  to  be  wondered  at.  However,  he  held  suc- 
cessively the  clerkship  of  Degrees  and  Recognisances  in  the  Irish  Court  of 
Chancery,  and  that  to  the  Council  of  Munster  ;  and  after  some  years  of  service 
he  received  a  grant  of  land  in  Cork  county — of  some  3000  acres,  out  of  the 
forfeited  estates  of  the  Earl  of  Desmond.     Certainly  by  the  year  1589  he  was 

453 


454 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


settled   in  the  old  castle  that  will  always  be  associated  with  his  memory — 
Kilcolman  Castle. 

In  that  year  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  whom  he  had  known  personally  since 
1580,  if  not  earlier,  and  whom  a  grant  from  those  same  forfeited  estates  as  he 
himself  was  sharing  brought  again  across  St.  (ieorge's  Channel,  visited  him  at 
Kilcolman,  and  read  the  first  three  books  of  The  Faery  Queen.  The  result 
was  a  visit  to  England  and  their  publication  in  1590,  and  the  establishment 
of  Spenser's  fame  as  the  chief  poet  of  the  day.  See  Colin  Clout's  Come  Home 
Again,  a  poem  written  on  Spenser's  return,  and  giving  a  full  account  of  that 
famous  expedition.  The  following  years,  to  say  nothing  of  his  official  duties, 
were  occupied  in  the  composition  of  the  next  three  books  of  The  Faery  Queen  ; 
and  also  in  paying  his  addresses  to  a  certain  lady  whose  name  has  at  last  been 
ascertained  to  be  Elizabeth  Boyle.  Of  this  courtship  and  its  hopes  and  fears 
he,  after  his  manner,  furnishes  a  complete  record  in  the  sequence  of  sonnets  en- 
titled Amoretti.  In  the  Epithalamion  he  celebrates  his  own  marriage.  He 
paid  another  visit  to  England  in  1596,  to  publish  the  second  instalment  of 
his  great  work,  and  probably  also  to  make  suit  for  some  more  congenial 
appointment, , or  an  appointment  amongst  more  congenial  surroundings  (see 
Prothalamion,  stanzas  i  and  9).  As  a  poet,  he  was  greeted  with  enthusiasm  ; 
but  the  Court  did  nothing  for  him,  or  nothing  of  importance  and  of  the  kind 
he  wished.  Lord  Burleigh,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  was  not  disposed  in  his 
favour.     And  so,  perforce,  he  betook  himself  back  to  Ireland. 

But  in  that  ill-governed  and  unhappy  country  a  fresh  insurrection  was  be- 
ing fiercely  plotted  and  organised.  In  1598  it  broke  out  with  fury.  Spenser, 
whose  possession  of  a  part  of  Desmond's  forfeited  estates  had  all  along  made 
him  detestable  to  the  natives,  and  whose  attitude  and  conduct  seem  indeed  to 
have  been  by  no  means  conciliatory,  was  one  of  its  first  victims.  His  house 
was  burnt  over  his  head,  and  he  had  to  fly  for  life.  He  reached  Londop  in 
extreme  poverty  and  distress.  And  there,  in  King  Street,  Westminster,  he 
died  January  13,  1599.  He  was  buried  by  the  side  of  Chaucer  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  ] 

Spenser's  one  important  prose  writing  is  The  View  of  the  Present 
State  of  Ireland;  but  we  have  also  some  Letters,  and  some 
Dedications.  The  View  of  the  Present  State  of  Ireland  was,  it 
seems  fairly  certain,  written  during  his  stay  in  England  in  1596. 
In  the  Lambeth  Library  is  extant  the  copy  sent  in  to  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  along  with  the  application  for  a  licence  to 
publish  the  work.  It  is  initialled  E.  S.  and  dated  by  the  author, 
as  Dr.  Grosart  reports  ;  and  the  date  given  is  i  596.  Again,  in 
one  passage  in  the  text  the  year  i  595  is  referred  to  as  "this  last 
year."  Several  phrases  in  the  work  indicate  that  Irenaeus,  the 
chief  speaker,  who  is  Spenser  himself,  was  at  the  time  in  England. 
Thus,  on  p.  61  of  Dr.  Grosart's  edition  we  read  :  "And  this  right 
well  I  wot  that  even  here  in  England  there  are  in  many  places  as 
strange  customs  as  Coigny  and  Livery." 

Certainly   the  work   is   the   result    of  long   experience   and   a 


SPENSER  455 

matured  study  of  the  country  of  which  it  treats.  As  we  have 
pointed  out  in  the  sketch  of  his  Hfe  just  given,  Spenser  was 
resident  in  Ireland  for  some  eighteen  years,  with  probably  not 
more  than  two  short  intermissions.  And,  though  this  residence 
was  far  from  congenial  to  him,  yet  he  by  no  means  wasted  the 
opportunity  of  thoroughly  acquainting  himself  with  manners  and 
customs  and  a  general  condition  of  things  that  were  so  strange 
and  also  often  so  picturesque  and  fascinating,  however  wild  and 
perilous.  The  political  problem,  too,  seriously  occupied  Spenser's 
attention  ;  and  his  work  aims  at  being  not  only  scholarly  and 
descriptive  but  effective  and  practical.  The  power  and  vigour  of 
his  mind  is  illustrated  in  every  part.  Those  who  think  of  the 
author  of  T/ie  Faery  Queen  as  a  mere  dreamer  of  dreams  will  find 
him  here  presenting  himself  in  a  very  different  aspect.  He  is 
here  a  man  of  business — a  most  careful  collector  of  facts,  and 
an  eager  deducer  and  resolute  advocate  of  certain  definite  conclu- 
sions. He  is  both  an  ardent  and  an  intelligent  archaeologist  and 
historian,  and  also  a  vigorous  and  peremptory  statesman.  The 
policy  he  advocates  is  one  of  the  severest  repression  and  suppres- 
sion ;  he  has  no  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  the  nation  ;  .perhaps 
we  might  say  he  has  no  understanding  or  even  apprehension  of 
it  ;  but  what  else  could  be  expected  from  the  intimate  friend  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  the  faithful  admirer  of  "  the  good  Lord 
Gray.'.'  ?  We  do  not  now  turn  to  Spenser's  treatise  for  political 
guidance,  and  it  would  be  absurd  to  blame  him  because  of  his 
Elizabethanism  in  this  or  any  other  respect.  The  Faery  Queen 
not  less  than  The  View  breathes  throughout  the  spirit  of  the  age 
that  produced  it. 

With  scarcely  an  exception — perhaps  Pope  is  one — all  our 
great  poets  have  also  been  great  prose-writers  ;  and  naturally  so, 
for  the  mastery  of  rhythm  and  language  which  distinguishes  the 
poet  must  inevitably  display  itself  in  whatever  literary  form  he 
adopts.  Indeed  it  may  be  urged  that  one  of  the  best  ways  of 
learning  to  write  prose  is  to  practise  verse-writing  ;  and  it  will  be 
found  that  almost  all  great  prose -writers  have  so  trained  and 
disciplined  themselves.  However  this  may  be,  the  author  of  The  _ 
Faery  Queen  writes  an  excellent  prose  style.  It  is  unaffected, 
clear,  vigorous,  straightforward.  It  exactly  suits  and  serves  its 
purpose.  It  does  not  play  with  words,  or  cultivate  any  verbal 
artifices.  It  is  perfectly  simple,  and  by  its  very  simplicity  impres- 
sive and  forcible.      Spenser  "only  speaks  right  on."      He  is  too 


456  ENGLISH  PROSE 


much  in  earnest  to  be  decorative  or  florid.  He  wishes  to  definitely 
instruct,  and  to  move  in  a  special  direction  those  whom  he  ad- 
dresses, not  merely  to  entertain  and  please  them.  But  being  a 
great  master  of  expression  he  accomplishes  this  latter  end  also, 
though  it  is  not  his  prime  object.  His  well-form6d  sentences  and 
his  trenchant  phrases  continually  remind  us  that  we  are  listening 
to  an  artist  born  and  bred. 

John  W.  Hales. 


IRISH  COSTUME 

Irenaus.  They  have  another  custom  from  the  Scythians,  that 
is,  the  wearing  of  mantles  and  long  glibbes,  which  is  a  thick  curled 
bush  of  hair,  hanging  down  over  their  eyes,  and  monstrously  dis- 
guising them,  which  are  both  very  bad  and  hurtful. 

Eudoxus.  Do  you  think  that  the  mantle  came  from  the 
Scythians  ?  I  would  surely  think  otherwise,  for  by  that  which  I 
have  read,  it  appeareth  that  most  nations  in  the  world  anciently 
used  the  mantle.  For  the  Jews  used  it,  as  you  may  read  of 
Elias'  mantle.  The  Chaldteans  also  used  it,  as  you  may  read 
in  Diodorus.  The  /Egyptians  likewise  used  it,  as  ye  may  read  in 
Herodotus,  and  may  be  gathered  by  the  description  of  Berenice,  in 
the  Greek  Commentaries  upon  Callimachus.  The  Greeks  also 
used  it  anciently,  as  appeareth  by  Venus's  mantle  lined  with  stars, 
though  afterwards  they  changed  the  form  thereof  into  their  cloaks, 
called  Pallia,  as  some  of  the  Irish  also  do.  And  the  ancient 
Latins  and  Romans  used  it,  as  ye  may  read  in  Virgil,  who  was 
a  very  ancient  antiquary, — that  Evander,  when  .(tnasas  came  unto 
him  at  his  feast,  did  entertain  and  feast  him,  sitting  on  the  ground, 
and  lying  on  mantles.  Insomuch  as  he  useth  this  very  word 
Mantile  for  a  mantle. 

'Mantilla  humi  stemunt.' 

So  as  it  seemeth  that  the  mantle  was  a  general  habit  to  most 
nations,  and  not  proper  to  the  Scythians  only,  as  you  suppose. 

Iren.  I  cannot  deny  but  that  anciently  it  was  common  to 
most,  and  yet  since  disused  and  laid  away.  But  in  this  later 
age  of  the  world,  since  the  decay  of  the  Roman  Empire,  it  was 
renewed  and  brought  in  again  by  those  Northern  nations  when; 
breaking  out  of  their  cold  caves  and  frozen  habitations  into  the 
sweet  soil  of  Europe,  they  brought  with  them  their  usual  weeds, 
fit  to  shield  the  cold,  and  that  continual  frost  to  which  they  had 

457 


458  ENGLISH  PROSE 


at  home  been  inured  :  the  which  yet  they  left  not  off,  by  reason 
that  they  were  in  perpetual  wars  with  the  nations  whom  they  had 
invaded,  but,  still  removing  from  place  to  place,  carried  always 
with  them  that  weed,  as  their  house,  their  bed,  and  their  garment ; 
and,  coming  lastly  into  Ireland,  they  found  there  more  special  use 
thereof,  by  reason  of  the  raw  cold  climate,  from  whence  it  is  now 
grown  into  that  general  use  in  which  that  people  now  have  it. 
After  whom  the  Gauls  succeeding,  yet  finding  the  like  necessity 
for  that  garment,  continued  the  like  use  thereof 

Eudox.  Sith  then  the  necessity  thereof  is  so  commodious,  as 
ye  allege,  that  it  is  instead  of  housing,  bedding,  and  clothing, 
what  reason  have  ye  then  to  wish  so  necessary  a  thing  cast  off? 

Iren.  Because  the  commodity  doth  not  countervail  the  dis- 
commodity for  the  inconveniences  that  thereby  do  arise  are  much 
more  many  ;  for  it  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlav/,  a  meet  bed  for  a 
rebel,  and  an  apt  cloak  for  a  thief.  First  the  outlaw  being  for 
his  many  crimes  and  villanies  banished  from  the  towns  and  houses 
of  honest  men,  and  wandering  in  waste  places,  far  from  danger  of 
law,  maketh  his  mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  covereth  himself 
from  the  wrath  of  heaven,' from  the  offence  of  the  earth,  and  from 
the  sight  of  men.  When  it  raineth  it  is  his  pent-house  ;  when  it 
blows  it  is  his  tent  ;  when  it  freezeth  it  is  his  tabernacle.  In 
summer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter  he  can  wear  it  close  ;  at 
all  times  he  can  use  it ;  never  heavy,  never  cumbersome.  Like- 
wise for  a  rebel  it  is  as  serviceable  ;  for  in  his  war  that  he  maketh 
(if  at  least  it  beseemeth  the  name  of  war)  when  he  still  flieth  from 
his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  the  thick  woods  and  strait  passages,  wait- 
ing for  advantages,  it  is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost  his  household 
stuff.  For  the  wood  is  his  house  against  all  weathers,  and  his 
mantle  is  his  cave  to  sleep  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  himself 
round,  and  encloseth  himself  strongly  against  the  gnats,  which 
in  that  country  do  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels,  whilst  they  keep 
the  woods,  and  do  more  sharply  wound  them  than  all  their  enemies' 
swords  or  spears,  which  can  come  seldom  nigh  them :  yea,  and 
oftentimes  their  mantle  serveth  them  when  they  are  near  driven, 
being  wrapt  about  their  left  arm  instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is  as 
hard  to  cut  through  it  with  a  sword  ;  besides  it  is  light  to  bear, 
light  to  throw  away,  and,  being  (as  they  then  commonly  are)  naked, 
it  is  to  them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a  thief  it  is  so  handsome,  as  it 
may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for  him  ;  for  under  it  he  can  cleanly 
convey  any  fit  pillage  that  cometh  handsomely  in  his  way,   and 


SPENSER  459 

when  he  goeth  abroad  in  the  night  on  free-booting,  it  is  his  best 
and  surest  friend  ;  for  lying,  as  they  often  do,  two  or  three  nights 
together  abroad  to  watch  for  their  booty,  with  that  they  can 
prettily  shroud  themselves  under  a  bush  or  bank's  side,  till  they 
may  conveniently  do  their  errand  :  and  when  all  is  done,  he  can 
in  his  mantle  pass  through  any  town  or  company,  being  close 
hooded  over  his  head,  as  he  useth,  from  knowledge  of  any  to 
whom  he  is  endangered.  Besides  all  this,  if  he  be  disposed  to 
do  mischief  or  villany  to  any  man,  he  may  under  his  mantle  go 
privily  armed  without  suspicion  of  any,  carrying  his  head-piece, 
his  skean,  or  pistol  if  he  please,  to  be  alway  in  readiness.  Thus 
necessary  and  fitting  is  a  mantle  for  a  bad  man,  and  surely  for  a 
bad  housewife  it  is  no  less  convenient.  These  be  some  of  the 
abuses  for  which  I  would  think  it  meet  to  forbid  all  mantles. 

Etidox.  O  evil-minded  man  that  having  reckoned  up  so  many 
uses  of  a  mantle,  will  yet  wish  it  to  be  abandoned  !  Sure  I  think 
Diogenes'  dish  did  never  serve  his  master  more  turns,  notwith- 
standing that  he  made  it  his  dish,  his  cup,  his  measure,  his  water- 
pot,  than  a  mantle  doth  an  Irish  man.  But  I  see  they  be  all  to 
bad  intents,  and  therefore  I  will  join  with  you  in  abolishing  it. 
But  what  blame  lay  you  to  \\\&  glibbe  ?  Take  heed  (I  pray  you) 
that  you  be  not  too  busy  therewith  for  fear  of  your  own  blame, 
seeing  our  Englishmen  take  it  up  in  such  a  general  fashion  to 
wear  their  hair  so  unmeasurably  long,  that  some  of  them  exceed 
the  longest  \x\^  glibbes. 

Iren.  I  fear  not  the  blame  of  any  undeserved  dislikes  ;  but 
for  the  Irish  glibbes,  I  say  that,  besides  their  savage  brutishness 
and  loathsome  filthiness  which  is  not  to  be  named,  they  are  as  fit 
masks  as  a  mantle  is  for  a  thief.  For  whensoever  he  hath  run 
himself  into  that  peril  of  law  that  he  will  not  be  known,  he  either 
cutteth  off  his  glibbe  quite,  by  which  he  becometh  nothing  like 
himself,  or  pulleth  it  so  low  down  over  his  eyes,  that  it  is  very 
hard  to  discern  his  thievish  countenance  ;  and  therefore  fit  to  be 
trussed  up  with  the  mantle. 

Eudox.  Truly  these  three  Scythian  abuses,  I  hold  most  fit  to 
be  taken  away  with  sharp  penalties  ;  and  surely  I  wonder  how 
they  have  been  kept  thus  long,  notwithstanding  so  many  good 
provisions  and  orders  as  have  been  devised  for  the  reformation  of 
that  people. 

(From  A   View  of  the  Present  State  of  Ireland.) 


46o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


IRISH    BARDS 

Irencsus.  There  is  amongst  the  Irish  a  certain  kind  of  people 
called  Bards,  which  are  to  them  instead  of  poets,  whose  profes- 
sion is  to  set  forth  the  praises  and  dispraises  of  men  in  their 
poems  and  rhymes  ;  the  which  are  had  in  so  high  request  and 
estimation  amongst  them,  that  none  dare  to  displease  them  for 
fear  of  running  into  reproach  through  their  offence,  and  to  be 
made  infamous  in  the  mouths  of  all  men.  For  their  verses  are 
taken  up  with  a  general  applause,  and  usually  sung  at  all  feasts 
and  meetings,  by  certain  other  persons,  whose  proper  function 
that  is,  which  also  receive  for  the  same  great  rewards  and  repu- 
tation besides. 

Etidoxiis.  Do  you  blame  this  in  them,  which  I  would  other- 
wise have  thought  to  have  been  worthy  of  good  account,  and 
rather  to  have  been  maintained  and  augmented  amongst  them, 
than  to  have  been  misliked .''  For  I  have  read  that  in  all  ages 
poets  have  been  had  in  special  reputation,  and  that  (me  seems) 
not  without  great  cause  ;  for  besides  their  sweet  inventions,  and 
most  witty  lays,  they  have  always  used  to  set  forth  the  praises  of 
the  good  and  virtuous,  and  to  beat  down  and  disgrace  the  bad 
and  vicious.  So  that  many  brave  young  minds  have  oftentimes, 
through  hearing  of  the  praises  and  famous  eulogies  of  worthy 
men  sung  and  reported  unto  them,  been  stirred  up  to  affect  like 
commendations,  and  so  to  strive  to  like  deserts.  So  they  say  the 
Lacedaemonians  were  more  inclined  to  desire  of  honour  with  the 
excellent  verses  of  the  poet  Tirtsus,  than  with  all  the  exhorta- 
tions of  their  captains,  or  authority  of  their  rulers  and  magistrates. 

Iren.  It  is  most  true  that  such  poets,  as  in  their  writings 
do  labour  to  better  the  manners  of  men,  and  through  the  sweet 
bait  of  their  numbers,  to  steal  into  young  spirits  a  desire  of 
honour  and  virtue,  are  worthy  to  be  had  in  great  respect.  But 
these  Irish  bards  are  for  the  most  part  of  another  mind,  and  so 
far  from  instructing  young  men  in  moral  discipline,  that  they 
themselves  do  more  deserve  to  be  sharply  disciplined  ;  for  they 
seldom  use  to  choose  unto  themselves  the  doings  of  good  men 
for  the  ornaments  of  their  poems,  but  whomsoever  they  find  to  be 
most  licentious  of  life,  most  bold  and  lawless  in  his  doings,  most 
dangerous  and  desperate  in  all  parts  of  disobedience  and  rebel- 
lious disposition,  him  they  set  up  and  glorify  in  their  rhymes,  him 


SPEJ^SER  461 

they  praise  to  the  people,  and  to  young  men  make  an  example 
to  follow 

Eudox.  I  marvel  what  kind  of  speeches  they  can  find,  or 
what  face  they  can  put  on,  to  praise  such  lewd  persons  as  live  so 
lawlessly  and  licentiously  upon  stealths  and  spoils,  as  most  of 
them  do  ;  or  how  can  they  think  that  any  good  mind  will  applaud 
or  approve  the  same  ? 

Iren.  There  is  none  so  bad,  Eudoxus,  but  shall  find  some 
to  favour  his  doings  ;  but  such  licentious  parts  as  these,  tending 
for  the  most  part  to  the  hurt  of  the  English,  or  maintenance  of 
their  own  lewd  liberty,  they  themselves,  being  most  desirous 
thereof,  do  most  allow.  Besides  this,  evil  things  being  decked 
and  suborned  with  the  gay  attire  of  goodly  words,  may  easily 
deceive  and  carry  away  the  affection  of  a  young  mind  that  is  not 
well  stayed,  but  desirous  by  some  bold  adventure  to  make  proof 
of  himself ;  for  being  (as  they  all  be)  brought  up  idlely  without 
awe  of  parents,  without  precepts  of  masters,  without  fear  of 
offence,  not  being  directed  or  employed  in  any  course  of  life, 
which  may  carry  them  to  virtue,  will  easily  be  drawn  to  follow 
such  as  any  shall  set  before  them  ;  for  a  young  mind  cannot  rest ; 
and  if  he  be  not  still  busied  in  some  goodness,  he  will  find  him- 
self such  business  as  shall  soon  busy  all  about  him.  In  which  if 
he  shall  find  any  to  praise  him,  and  to  give  him  encouragement, 
as  those  bards  and  rhymers  do  for  a  little  reward,  or  a  share  of  a 
stolen  cow,  then  waxeth  he  most  insolent  and  half  mad  with  the 
love  of  himself,  and  his  own  lewd  deeds.  And  as  for  words  to 
set  forth  such  lewdness,  it  is  not  hard  for  them  to  give  a  goodly 
glose  and  painted  show  thereunto,  borrowed  even  from  the 
praises  which  are  proper  to  virtue  itself.  As  of  a  most  notorious 
thief  and  wicked  outlaw,  which  had  lived  all  his  lifetime  of  spoils 
and  robberies,  one  of  these  bards  in  his  praise  said.  That  he  was 
none  of  those  idle  milk-sops  that  was  brought  up  by  the  fire  side, 
but  that  most  of  his  days  he  spent  in  arms  and  valiant  enter- 
prises ;  that  he  never  did  eat  his  meat  before  he  had  won  it  with 
his  sword  ;  that  he  was  not  slugging  all  night  in  a  cabin  under 
his  mantle,  but  used  commonly  to  keep  others  waking  to  defend 
their  lives,  and  did  light  his  candle  at  the  flames  of  their  houses 
to  lead  him  in  the  darkness  ;  that  the  day  was  his  night,  and  the 
night  his  day  ;  that  he  loved  not  to  lie  long  wooing  of  wenches 
to  yield  unto  him,  but  where  he  came  he  took  by  force  the  spoil 
of  other  men's  love,  and   left  but   lamentations  to  their  lovers ; 


462  ENGLISH  PROSE 


that  his  music  was  not  the  harp,  nor  lays  of  love,  but  the  cries  of 
people,  and  clashing  of  armour  ;  and  that  finally,  he  died  not 
bewailed  of  many,  but  made  many  wail  when  he  died  that  dearly 
bought  his  death.  Do  not  you  think  (Eudoxus)  that  many  of 
these  praises  might  be  applied  to  men  of  best  desert  ?  yet  are 
they  all  yielded  to  a  most  notable  traitor,  and  amongst  some  of 
the  Irish  not  smally  accounted  of  For  the  song,  when  it  was 
first  made  and  sung  unto  a  person  of  high  degree,  they  were 
bought  (as  their  manner  is)  for  forty  crowns. 

Eudox.  And  well  worthy  sure  !  But  tell  me  (I  pray  you) 
have  they  any  art  in  their  compositions  ?  or  be  they  anything 
witty  or  well  savoured,  as  poems  should  be  ? 

Iren.  Yea  truly  ;  I  have  caused  divers  of  them  to  be  trans- 
lated unto  me  that  I  might  understand  them  ;  and  surely  they 
savoured  of  sweet  wit  and  good  invention,  but  skilled  not  of  the 
goodly  ornaments  of  poetry  :  yet  were  they  sprinkled  with  some 
pretty  flowers  of  their  own  natural  device,  which  gave  good  grace 
and  comeliness  unto  them,  the  which  it  is  great  pity  to  see  so 
abused,  to  the  gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice,  which  would  with 
good  usage  serve  to  beautify  and  adorn  virtue.  This  evil  custom, 
therefore  needeth  reformation. 


(From  the  Same.) 


THE  MISERY  OF   IRELAND 

Eudoxus.  But  now,  when  all  things  are  brought  to  this  pass, 
and  all  filled  with  this  rueful  spectacle  of  so  many  wretched 
carcases  starving,  goodly  countries  wasted,  so  huge  a  desolation 
and  confusion  as  even  I  that  do  but  hear  it  from  you,  and  do 
picture  it  in  my  mind,  do  greatly  pity  and  commiserate  it,  if  it 
shall  happen  that  the  state  of  this  misery  and  lamentable  image 
of  things  shall  be  told,  and  feelingly  presented  to  her  Sacred 
Majesty,  being  by  nature  full  of  mercy  and  clemency,  who  is 
most  inclinable  to  such  pitiful  complaints,  and  will  not  endure  to 
hear  such  tragedies  made  of  her  people  and  poor  subjects  as 
some  about  her  may  insinuate  ;  then  she  perhaps,  for  very  com- 
passion of  such  calamities,  will  not  only  stop  the  stream  of  such 
violence,  and  return  to  her  wonted  mildness,  but  also  con  them 
little  thanks  which  have  been  the  authors  and  counsellors  of  such 
bloody  platforms.      So  I  remember  in  the  iate  government  of  the 


SPENSER  463 

good  Lord  Gray,  when,  after  long  travail  and  many  perilous 
assayes,  he  had  brought  things  almost  to  this  pass  that  ye  speak  of, 
and  that  when  it  was  even  made  ready  for  reformation,  and  might 
have  been  brought  to  what  her  Majesty  would,  like  complaint  was 
made  against  him,  that  he  was  a  bloody  man,  and  regarded  not 
the  life  of  her  subjects  no  more  than  dogs,  but  had  wasted  and 
consumed  all,  so  as  now  she  had  nothing  almost  left,  but  to  reign 
in  their  ashes  ;  her  Majesty's  ear  was  soon  lent  thereunto,  and 
all  suddenly  turned  topsy  turvy  ;  the  noble  lord  eft-sones  was 
blamed  ;  the  wretched  people  pitied  ;  and  new  counsels  plotted, 
in  which  it  was  concluded  that  a  general  pardon  should  be  sent 
over  to  all  that  would  accept  of  it,  upon  which  all  former  pur- 
poses were  blanked,  the  governor  at  a  bay.  and  not  only  all  that 
great  and  long  charge,  which  she  had  before  been  at,  quite  lost 
and  cancelled,  but  also  that  hope  of  good  which  was  even  at  the 
door  put  back,  and  clean  frustrated.  All  which,  whether  it  be 
true  or  no,  yourself  can  well  tell. 

IrencEus.  Too  true,  Eudoxus,  the  more  the  pity,  for  I  may  not 
forget  so  memorable  a  thing  :  neither  can  1  be  ignorant  of  that 
perilous  devise,  and  of  the  whole  means  by  which  it  was  com- 
passed, and  very  cunningly  contrived  by  sowing  first  dissension 
between  him  and  another  noble  personage,  wherein  they  both 
found  at  length  how  notably  they  had  been  abused,  and  how 
thereby  under-hand,  this  universal  alteration  of  things  was  brought 
about,  but  then  too  late  to  stay  the  same  ;  for  in  the  mean  time 
all  that  was  formerly  done  with  long  labour  and  great  toil,  was 
(as  you  say)  in  a  moment  undone,  and  that  good  lord  blotted 
with  the  name  of  a  bloody  man,  whom,  who  that  well  knew,  knew 
him  to  be  most  gentle,  affable,  loving,  and  temperate  ;  but  that 
the  necessity  of  that  present  state  of  things  enforced  him  to  that 
violence,  and  almost  changed  his  very  natural  disposition.  But 
otherwise  he  was  so  far  from  delighting  in  blood,  that  oftentimes 
he  suffered  not  just  vengeance  to  fall  where  it  was  deserved  ;  and 
even  some  of  those  which  were  afterwards  his  accusers  had  tasted 
too  much  of  his  mercy,  and  were  from  the  gallows  brought  to  be 
his  accusers.  But  his  course  indeed  was  this,  that  he  spared  not 
the  heads  and  principals  of  any  mischievous  practice  or  rebellion, 
but  showed  sharp  judgment  on  them,  chiefly  for  example's  sake, 
that  all  the  meaner  sort,  which  also  then  were  generally  infected 
with  that  evil,  might  by  terror  thereof  be  reclaimed,  and  saved, 
if  it  might  be  possible.      For  in  that  last  conspiracy  of  some  of 


464  ENGLISH  PROSE 


the  English  pale,  think  you  not  that  there  were  many  more  guilty 
than  they  that  felt  the  punishment,  or  was  there  any  almost  clear 
from  the  same  ?  yet  he  touched  only  a  few  of  special  note  ;  and 
in  the  trial  of  them  also  even  to  prevent  the  blame  of  cruelty  and 
partial  dealing,  as  seeking  their  blood,  which  he,  in  his  great 
wisdom  (as  it  seemeth)  did  foresee  would  be  objected  against 
him  ;  he,  for  the  avoiding  thereof  did  use  a  singular  discretion 
and  regard.  For  the  jury  that  went  upon  their  trial  he  made  to 
be  chosen  out  of  their  nearest  kinsmen,  and  their  judges  he  made 
of  some  of  their  own  fathers,  of  others  their  uncles  and  dearest 
friends,  who,  when  they  could  not  but  justly  condemn  them,  yet 
uttered  their  judgment  in  abundance  of  tears,  and  yet  he  even 
herein  was  counted  bloody  and  cruel. 

Eudox.  Indeed  so  have  1  heard  it  oiten  here  spoken,  and  I 
perceive  (as  I  always  verily  thought)  that  it  was  most  unjustly  ; 
for  he  was  always  known  to  be  a  most  just,  sincere,  godly,  and 
right  noble  man,  far  from  such  sternness,  far  from  such  unrighteous- 
ness. But  in  that  sharp  execution  of  the  Spaniards  at  the  Fort 
of  Smerwick,  I  heard  it  specially  noted,  and,  if  it  were  true  as 
some  reported,  surely  it  was  a  great  touch  to  him  in  honour,  for 
some  say  that  he  promised  them  life  ;  others  that  at  least  he  did 
put  them  in  hope  thereof 

Iren.  Both  the  one  and  the  other  is  most  untrue  ;  for  this  I 
can  assure  you,  myself  being  as  near  them  as  any,  that  he  was  so 
far  from  either  promising,  or  putting  them  in  hope,  that  when 
first  their  secretary,  called,  as  I  remember,  Jacques  Gefifray,  an 
Italian,  being  sent  to  treat  with  the  Lord  Deputy  for  grace,  was 
flatly  denied  ;  and  afterwards  their  coronet,  named  Don  Sebastian, 
came  forth  to  intreat  that  they  might  part  with  their  arms  like 
soldiers,  at  least  with  their  lives,  according  to  the  custom  of  war 
and  law  of  nations,  it  was  strongly  denied  him,  and  told  him  by 
the  Lord  Deputy  himself,  that  they  could  not  justly  plead  either 
custom  of  war,  or  law  of  nations,  for  that  they  were  not  any  lawful 
enemies  ;  and  if  they  were,  he  willed  them  to  show  by  what  com- 
mission they  came  thither  into  another  prince's  dominions  to 
war,  whether  from  the  Pope  or  the  King  of  Spain,  or  any  other  ; 
the  which  when  they  said  they  had  not,  but  were  only  adventurers 
that  came  to  seek  fortune  abroad,  and  serve  in  wars  amongst  the 
Irish,  who  desired  to  entertain  them,  it  was  then  told  them  that 
the  Irish  themselves,  as  the  earl  and  John  of  Desmond  with  the 
rest,  were  no  lawful  enemies,  but  rebels  and  traitors ;   and  there- 


SPENSER  465 

fore  they  that  came  to  succour  them  no  better  than  rogues  and 
runnagates,  specially  coming  with  no  licence  nor  commission  from 
their  own  king  :  so  as  it  should  be  dishonourable  for  him  in  the 
name  of  his  Queen  to  condition  or  make  any  terms  with  such 
rascals,  but  left  them  to  their  choice,  to  yield  and  submit  them- 
selves or  no.  Whereupon  the  said  coro?iel  did  absolutely  yield 
himself  and  the  fort,  with  all  therein,  and  craved  only  mercy, 
which  it  being  not  thought  good  to  show  them,  both  for  danger 
of  themselves,  if  being  saved,  they  should  afterwards  join  with 
the  Irish,  and  also  for  terror  to  the  Irish,  who  were  much 
emboldened  by  those  foreign  succours,  and  also  put  in  hope  of 
more  ere  long  ;  there  was  no  other  way  but  to  make  that  short 
end  of  them  which  was  made.  Therefore  most  untruly  and 
maliciously  do  these  evil  tongues  backbite  and  slander  the  sacred 
ashes  of  that  most  just  and  honourable  personage,  whose  least 
virtue,  of  many  most  excellent  which  abounded  in  his  heroical 
spirit,  they  were  never  able  to  aspire  unto. 

(From  the  Same.) 


RICHARD    HOOKER 

[Richard  Hooker,  as  we  learn  from  Izaak  Walton  in  his  famous  Life,  was 
born  near  Exeter  about  the  year  1553.  About  the  year  1567  he  went  to 
Corpus  Christ!  College,  Oxford,  where  in  1573  he  was  admitted  as  one  of  the 
twenty  scholars  of  the  foundation,  and  where,  in  1577,  he  was  elected  fellow. 
About  1582  he  was  ordained  and  was  presently  appointed  to  preach  at  St. 
Paul's  Cross.  A  little  later  he  married  a  lady  who  seems  to  have  proved  to 
him  a  singularly  unpleasant  wife.  In  1585  he  was  made  Master  of  the  Temple. 
In  1595  he  was  appointed  to  the  parsonage  of  Bishopsbourne  in  Kent.  In  the 
year  previous  his  "  first  four  Books  and  large  Epistle"  were  published  ;  and 
the  fifth  Book  [On  the  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity)  was  published  in  1597. 
He  died  at  the  early  age  of  forty-six  in  the  autumn  of  1600.  His  literary 
works  other  than  the  above  were  published  posthumously.] 

It  may  at  once  be  said  of  Hooker's  work  that  his  quahty,  his 
accomplishment  (though  of  a  high  order  in  rhetoric,  in  composi- 
tion governed  by  certain  stately  and  scholastic  laws)  cannot  rank 
him  among  the  great  creative  writers  of  the  world.  As  a  man  of 
thought,  and  as  a  man  who  set  serious  value  by  his  thought : 
as  a  man  who  perpended  every  paragraph,  and  who  carefully 
elaborated  every  parenthesis :  as  a  man  whose  conscientious 
labour  must  ever  be  among  the  influences  that  drive  the  frivolous 
to  despair,  his  superior  or  even  his  rival  would  not  be  easy  to 
find.  His  workmanship,  too,  is  very  cunningly  equipoised.  He 
had  an  ear  for  the  balance  of  parts,  and  for  sonorousness  of 
diction.  He  is  never  irresponsible,  never  gay,  never  passionate, 
never  free  from  his  own  personal  control.  But  for  the  artificial 
quality  of  his  art  he  takes  an  exceptional  eminence.  There  is 
something  peculiarly  satisfactory  about  all  his  writing ;  it  is 
thorough.  The  extreme  labour  which  he  devoted  to  it  sometimes 
indeed  gives  to  it  an  excessive  cast ;  he  thinks  his  thoughts  out  to 
so  wire-drawn  a  completeness  that  he  not  infrequently  irritates  by 
his  persistent  digressions  and  his  unashamed  length  of  sentence. 
"  It  may  be,"  he  once  wrote,  in  perhaps  the  most  heated  docu- 

467 


468  ENGLISH  PROSE 


ment  he  ever  composed — singularly  temperate  though  it  be — "  I 
have  talked  or  walked  or  eaten  or  interchangeably  used  the 
duties  of  common  humanity  with  some  such  as  he  is  hardly  per- 
suaded of.  For  I  know  no  law  of  God  or  man,  by  force  whereof 
they  should  be  as  heathens  and  publicans  unto  me  that  are  not 
gracious  in  the  eyes  of  another  man."  An  ordinary  thinker 
accustomed  to  pursue  his  thoughts  with  average  fury  would  there 
have  ceased  ;  but  Hooker  is  content  to  mar  the  whole  passage  by 
the  clumsy  addition  of  a  fresh  clause,  which  is  the  merest  elucida- 
tion, unessential  to  his  contention,  yet  irresistible  to  his  refining 
mind.  After  the  interval  of  a  comma  he  continues,  "  perhaps 
without  cause,  or,  if  with  cause,  yet  with  such  cause  as  he  is  privy 
unto  and  not  I."  These  are  the  natural  faults  of  excessive 
laboriousness.  One  who  presses  his  eyes  too  closely  to  a  picture 
loses  its  perspective  unity  ;  the  writer  who  can  never  leave  his 
thought  alone  inclines  to  the  same  bemusement ;  he  sometimes — 
as  in  this  instance — surrenders  the  very  achievement  upon  which 
his  heart  is  customarily  set  ;  he  loses  his  balance,  and  gains 
nothing  for  his  pains. 

Let  this  suffice  for  a  brief  general  review  of  Hooker's  literary 
style.  To  come  to  detail,  the  first  thing  to  note  is  the  academical 
quality  of  every  sentence  he  ever  wrote — a  quality  so  academical, 
so  purely  the  outcome  of  studiousness  that  you  begin  presently 
to  wonder  whether  the  man  had  a  pair  of  eyes  at  all.  It  would 
perhaps  be  rash  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  single  passage  in  all 
his  works  dealing  with  the  commonest  matters  of  natural  obser- 
vation ;  but  such  passages  are  certainly  of  extreme  infrequency. 
To  compare  him  to  Taylor  in  this  respect  is  to  step  from  the 
close  atmosphere  of  a  sealed  library  into  the  flowers  of  the 
springtime.  Recall,  for  example,  two  passages,  one  from  each 
writer,  in  which  each  deals  with  his  subject  through  the  medium 
of  some  objective  phenomena.  "  So  have  I  seen  a  rose,"  says 
Jeremy,  "  newly  springing  from  the  clefts  of  its  hood,  and  at  first 
it  was  fair  as  the  morning  and  full  with  the  dew  of  heaven  as  a 
lamb's  fleece  ;  but  when  a  ruder  breath  had  forced  open  its  virgin 
modesty,  and  dismantled  its  too  youthful  and  unripe  retirements, 
it  began  to  put  on  darkness  and  to  decline  to  softness  and  the 
symptoms  of  a  sickly  age  ;  it  bowed  the  head  and  broke  its  stalk, 
and,  at  night,  having  lost  some  of  its  leaves  and  all  its  beauty,  it 
fell  into  the  portion  of  weeds  and  outworn  faces."  The  passage, 
full  of  exquisitely  personal  observation,  may  be   left  to  sing  its 


RICHARD  HOOKER  469 

own  song.  Take  in  comparison  to  it  this  fine  passage  from  a 
sermon  by  Hooker.  "The  judgments  of  God  do  not  always 
follow  crimes  as  thunder  doth  lightning,  but  sometimes  the  space 
of  many  ages  coming  between.  When  the  sun  hath  shined  fair  the 
space  of  six  days  upon  the  tabernacle,  we  know  not  what  clouds 
the  seventh  may  bring.  ...  If  they  chance  to  escape  clearly  in 
this  world,  which  they  seldom  do ;  in  the  day  when  the  heavens 
shall  shrivel  as  a  scroll  and  the  mountains  move  as  frighted  men 
out  of  their  places,  what  cave  shall  receive  them  ?  What  moun- 
tain or  rock  shall  they  get  by  entreaty  to  fall  upon  them  ?  what 
covert  to  hide  them  from  that  wrath,  which  they  shall  be  neither 
able  to  abide  nor  to  avoid  ? "  Every  allusion  in  this  second 
passage  is  perfectly  academical.  The  sentences  roll  majestically, 
they  prove  a  nice  sense  of  words,  a  rhythmical  command  of 
speech.  But  when  this  writer  speaks  of  the  shining  of  the  sun 
upon  the  tabernacle  he  has  no  visual  sense,  it  is  clear,  of  his 
metaphor  ;  the  shrivelling  of  the  heavens  and  the  moving  of  the 
mountains  in  their  second-hand  application,  are  the  purest  figures  of 
rhetoric  ;  there  is  an  intellectual  impressiveness  in  that  comparison 
of  the  moving  mountains  to  "  frighted  men  "  ;  but  the  conception 
has  no  real  analogies  to  anything  in  nature  :  indeed,  any  attempt 
to  make  such  an  analogy  would  involve  the  whole  image  in 
grotesqueness.  The  academic  mind  is  incapable  of  literal 
imagery,  if  such  imagery  is  to  be  evolved  from  the  sights  and 
sounds  and  scents  of  the  objective  world.  Hooker's  fancy  is  a 
quality  entirely  dormant  ;  he  has  a  certain  intellectual  imagination, 
but  this  is  mostly  derivative.  The  Old  Testament  supplied  him 
with  what  splendour  of  illustration  he  chanced  to  need. 

To  bring  the  matter  down  to  narrower  issues  :  it  is  to  be  noted 
how  deeply  Hooker  was  affected  by  Latin  writers  and  Latin 
construction  in  his  literary  style,  although  it  cannot  truthfully  be 
said  that  this  was  to  the  disadvantage  of  his  literature.  He 
discovers  the  strength  of  such  an  influence,  partly  in  his  deliberate 
massiveness  of  construction,  partly  in  the  obvious  impatience  he 
displays  towards  the  Teutonic  prepositional  substitutes  for  inflected 
speech,  and  partly  in  his  repetition  of  an  idea  in  words  of  slightly 
different  shades  of  meaning — "  without  any  qualifications,  cautions, 
ifs  and  ands,"  he  writes  in  one  place,  obvious  y  induced  thereto 
by  some  Ciceronian  reminiscence.  Sometimes,  too,  he  will  omit 
an  auxiliary  verb,  will  give  to  his  principal  words  a  Latinised 
importance   of  position,   yet — with   some   fine    insight    into    the 


470  ENGLISH  PROSE 


quicker  movement  of  the  English  tongue  —  preserve  a  strong 
idiomatic  flavour  of  the  language  through  which  he  is  commercing. 
A  pat  instance  is  to  hand  :  "One  of  the  town  ministers,"  he  writes 
somewhere,  "  that  saw  in  what  manner  the  people  were  bent  for 
the  revocation  of  Calvin,  gave  him  notice  of  their  affection  in  this 
sort :  '  The  Senate  of  two  hundred  being  assembled,  they  all  crave 
Calvin.  The  next  day  a  general  convocation.  They  cry  in  hke 
sort  again  all,  we  will  have  Calvin,  that  good  and  learned  man, 
Christ's  minister.'  "  The  words  within  quotation  marks  have  the 
savour  of  a  literal  translation  from  the  Latin.  "They  cry  in  like  sort 
again  all:"  Clamant  similiter  rursus  ot/mes — the  words  require  no 
transposition,  no  manipulation  ;  yet  the  general  trend  of  the  pas- 
sage is  certainly  towards  an  English  or  Teutonic,  rather  than  to- 
wards a  classical  spirit ;  and,  indeed,  despite  his  love  of  these  alien 
speeches,  despite  his  submission  to  their  dictation,  their  imperial 
authority,  he  none  the  less  clearly  for  that  makes  ample  show  of  a 
complete  equipment  in  a  native  idiom  and  a  native  manner  of 
language. 

He  is  a  little  austere.  That  may  have  been  already  gathered 
from  preceding  words,  but  let  it  here  be  stated  explicitly.  He 
lacks  all  (or  nearly  all)  the  endearing  qualities  of  literature.  You 
admire  the  ample  and  even  splendid  furniture  of  his  mind  ;  you 
appraise  at  their  high  and  full  value  his  powers  of  abstract — if  not 
always  perfectly  logical  or  coherent  —  reasoning,  but  he  seldom 
stirs  the  elemental'  emotions  that  are  deepset  far  beneath  the 
intellectual  emotions  of  knowledge  and  culture.  Of  old,  men  had 
the  comparison  between  Cicero  and  Demosthenes  which  may  well 
stand  as  between  Hooker  and  Taylor.  When  Cicero  spoke  the 
world  wondered  over  the  marvellous  artist,  the  refined  rhetorician, 
the  eloquent  philosopher,  the  skilful  musician  in  words,  the  silver- 
tongued  and  persuasive  advocate  ;  so  has  the  world  wondered, 
in  a  somewhat  lesser  degree,  over  Hooker.  But  when  Demo- 
sthenes spoke,  an  excited  audience  of  Athenians  sprang  to  foot 
crying,  "  Let  us  go  forth  to  fight  Philip."  The  parallel  is  com- 
plete. Yet  there  are  infrequent  passages  in  Hooker's  work  that 
move  the  deeper  emotions.  "The  best  things  we  do,"  he  says 
sorrowfully  in  one  of  his  finest  passages,  to  be  quoted  later,  "  have 
somewhat  in  them  to  be  pardoned  ; "  and  it  is  a  sentiment  that 
has  in  it  some  of  the  piercing  quality  of  essential  truth.  Again, 
in  a  funeral  sermon  which  he  preached  over  the  coffin  of  a 
religious    lady,   he    struck    out    occasional    passages   of  pathetic 


RICHARD  HOOKER  471 

beauty  which  is  elsewhere  rarely  to  be  found  in  his  work.  Yet 
even  here  one  finds  the  emotion  unsustained.  It  quickly  leaves 
him,  and,  thrown  upon  the  unfelt  sentiments  derived  from  more 
poignant  literature,  he  falls  into  an  absolute  bathos.  "  Concern- 
ing this  virtuous  gentlewoman  only  this  little  I  speak,"  he  says  at 
the  conclusion  of  a  nobly  pathetic  passage,  "and  that  of  know- 
ledge, '  She  lived  a  doiie  and  died  a  lamb.''  " 

We  come  finally  to  consider  Hooker  as  a  master — or  other- 
wise—  of  controversy.  "I  take  no  joy,"  he  once  wrote,  "in 
striving  ;  I  have  not  been  nuzzled  or  trained  up  in  it.  I  would 
to  Christ  they  which  have  at  this  present  forced  me  hereunto  had 
so  ruled  their  hands  in  any  reasonable  time  that  I  might  never 
have  been  constrained  to  strike  so  much  as  in  mine  own  defence." 
For  this  very  reason  he  was  so  much  the  better  controversialist. 
Never  losing  his  head,  he  always  retained  the  full  power  of  his 
hand  ;  never  excited,  he  always  detected  a  weak  joint  ;  always 
meek,  he  never  lost  sight  of  his  advantages  in  the  anger  of 
another.  And  where  the  clear  justice  of  his  cause  supplied  to 
him  any  personal  deficiency  of  logic,  he  is  not  easily  to  be  sur- 
passed in  quiet  overbearing,  in  gentle  persuasiveness.  For  this 
reason  his  answer  to  Travers  must  be  reckoned  among  the 
strongest  pieces  of  controversial  work  which  his  times  produced. 
Travers,  it  is  to  be  premised,  committed  the  initial  blunder  of 
violence  and  anger — defects  which,  as  has  been  seen,  were 
absolutely  alien  to  the  mild  and  melancholy  Hooker.  Hooker 
accordingly  makes  a  quiet  meal  of  Travers,  already  simmering  in 
the  sauce  of  his  own  fury.  He  does  it,  too,  with  that  admirable 
reluctance,  that  unwilling  appetite,  that  patient  depreciation  which 
— if  writers  of  controversy  only  knew  it — have  an  infinitely  more 
damnatory  effect  than  outrageous  home-thrusts  or  tedious  satire. 
His  final  apologies,  too  —  doubtless  sincere,  but  none  the  less 
mischievously  effective — for  showing  fight,  his  gentle  hint  that 
Travers  has  proved  an  indigestible  dish,  his  concluding  expres- 
sions of  amity  and  goodwill,  prove,  as  it  seems — and  quite  apart 
from  the  reasonableness  of  his  case — the  justice  of  his  standpoint. 
It  is  scarce  to  be  wondered  at  that  Archbishop  Whitgift  began, 
from  the  time  of  its  publication,  "to  have  Hooker  in  admiration," 
as  Walton  records,  "  and  to  rejoice  that  he  had  appeared  in  his 
cause."  As  to  his  general  controversy  —  with  Rome,  or  with 
heresy,  as  he  conceived  it — his  best  qualities  are  those  already 
named,   his  worst   a  certain   looseness   of  logical   instinct.       No 


472 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


work  of  a  lifetime  could  have  been  more  appropriate  to  any  writer 
than  was  The  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity  to  Hooker.  The 
thing  was  reserved  for  him  to  accomplish  by  some  Providence. 
Its  controversy  did  not  clamour  for  too  close  an  application  of 
absolute  reasoning — and  so  far  he  is  a  master  in  controversy  ;  its 
scope  afforded  him  a  field  for  all  those  errant  speculations, 
academic  analogies,  historic  and  learned  allusions,  comparative 
judgments,  and  hesitant  conclusions  for  which  he  was  admirably 
fitted. 

Enough,  then,  has  been  said  to  show  Hooker  as  a  writer  of 
English  ;  though,  by  reason  of  certain  defects,  he  cannot  be  said 
to  take  supreme  rank  among  the  literary  creators  of  the  world, 
he  has  all  the  qualities,  all  the  greatnesses,  that  allow  him  to  rank 
among  the  most  scholarly,  conscientious,  and  learned  writers 
upon   whom  the    English    language   has   conferred    its    ultimate 

honours. 

Vernon  Blackburn. 


CALVIN'S  RETURN  TO  GENEVA 

He  ripely  considered  how  gross  a  thing  it  were  for  men  of  his 
quality,  wise  and  grave  men,  to  live  with  such  a  multitude,  and 
to  be  tenants  at  will  under  them,  as  their  ministers,  both  himself 
and  others,  had  been.  For  the  remedy  of  which  inconvenience, 
he  gave  them  plainly  to  understand,  that  if  he  did  become  their 
teacher  again,  they  must  be  content  to  admit  a  complete  form  of 
discipline,  which  both  they  and  also  their  pastors  should  now  be 
solemnly  sworn  to  observe  for  ever  after.  Of  which  discipline 
the  main  ard  principal  parts  were  these  :  A  standing  ecclesiastical 
court  to  be  established  ;  perpetual  judges  in  that  court  to  be  their 
ministers  ;  others  of  the  people  to  be  annually  chosen  (twice  so 
many  in  number  as  they)  to  be  judges  together  with  them  in  the 
same  court  :  these  two  sorts  to  have  the  care  of  all  men's  manners, 
power  of  determining  all  kind  of  ecclesiastical  causes,  and  author- 
ity to  convent,  to  control,  to  punish,  as  far  as  with  excommunica- 
tion, whomsoever  they  should  think  worthy,  none  either  small  or 
great  excepted. 

This  device  I  see  not  how  the  wisest  at  that  time  living  could 
have  bettered,  if  we  duly  consider  what  the  present  estate  of 
Geneva  did  then  require.  For  their  bishop  and  his  clergy  being 
(as  it  is  said)  departed  from  them  by  moonlight,  or  howsoever, 
being  departed  ;  to  choose  in  his  room  any  other  bishop,  had 
been  a  thing  altogether  impossible.  And  for  their  ministers  to 
seek  that  themselves  alone  might  have  coercive  power  over  the 
whole  church,  would  perhaps  have  been  hardly  construed  at 
that  time.  But  when  so  frank  an  offer  was  made,  that  for  every 
one  minister  there  should  be  two  of  the  people  to  sit  and  give 
voice  in  the  ecclesiastical  consistory,  what  inconvenience  could 
they  easily  find  which  themselves  might  not  be  able  always  to 
remedy  ? 

Howbeit  (as  evermore  the  simpler  sort  are,  even  when  they 

473 


474  ENGLISH  PROSE 


see  no  apparent  cause,  jealous  notwithstanding  over  the  secret 
intents  and  purposes  of  wiser  men)  this  proposition  of  his  did 
somewhat  trouble  them.  Of  the  ministers  themselves  which  had 
stayed  behind  in  the  city  when  Calvin  was  gone,  some,  upon 
knowledge  of  the  people's  earnest  intent  to  recall  him  to  his  place 
again,  had  beforehand  written  their  letters  of  submission,  and 
assured  him  of  their  allegiance  for  ever  after,  if  it  should  like  him 
to  hearken  unto  that  public  suit.  But  yet  misdoubting  what 
might  happen,  if  this  discipline  did  go  forward,  they  objected 
against  it  the  example  of  other  reformed  churches  living  quietly 
and  orderly  without  it.  Some  of  chiefest  place  and  countenance 
amongst  the  laity  professed  with  greater  stomach  their  judgments, 
that  such  a  discipline  was  little  better  than  Popish  tyranny 
disguised  and  tendered  unto  them  under  a  new  form.  This  sort, 
it  may  be,  had  some  fear  that  the  filling  up  of  the  seats  in  the 
consistory  with  so  great  a  number  of  laymen  was  but  to  please 
che  minds  of  the  people,  to  the  end  they  might  think  their  own 
sway  somewhat  ;  but  when  things  came  to  trial  of  practice  their 
pastors'  learning  would  be  at  all  times  of  force  to  over-persuade 
simple  men,  who  knowing  the  time  of  their  own  presidentship  to 
be  but  short  would  always  stand  in  fear  of  their  ministers'  per- 
petual authority  :  and  among  the  ministers  themselves,  one  being 
so  far  in  estimation  above  the  rest,  the  voices  of  the  rest  were 
likely  to  be  given  for  the  most  part  respectively,  with  a  kind  of 
secret  dependency  and  awe  :  so  that  in  show  a  marvellous  in- 
differently composed  senate  ecclesiastical  was  to  govern,  but  in 
effect  one  only  man  should,  as  the  spirit  and  soul  of  the  residue, 
do  all  in  all.  But  what  did  these  vain  surmises  boot  ?  Brought 
they  were  now  to  so  strait  an  issue,  that  of  two  things  they 
must  choose  one  :  namely,  whether  they  would  to  their  endless 
disgrace,  with  ridiculous  lightness  dismiss  him  whose  restitution 
they  had  in  so  impotent  manner  desired  ;  or  else  condescend 
unto  that  demand  wherein  he  was  resolute  either  to  have  it,  or  to 
leave  them.  They  thought  it  better  to  be  somewhat  liardly  yoked 
at  home,  than  for  ever  abroad  discredited.  Wherefore  in  the 
end  those  orders  were  on  all  sides  assented  unto  :  with  no  less 
alacrity  of  mind  than  cities  unable  to  hold  out  long-er  are  wont  to 
show,  when  they  take  conditions  such  as  it  liketh  him  to  offer 
them  which  hath  them  in  the  narrow  straits  of  advantage. 

(From  the  Preface  to  the  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity.) 


RICHARD  HOOKER  475 


.      CHRISTIAN   UNITY  COUNSELLED 

The  best  and  safest  way  for  you  therefore,  my  dear  brethren,  is 
to  call  your  deeds  past  to  a  new  reckoning,  to  re-examine  the 
cause  ye  have  taken  in  hand,  and  to  try  it  even  point  by  point, 
argument  by  argument,  with  all  the  diligent  exactness  ye  can  ;  to 
lay  aside  the  gall  of  that  bitterness  wherein  your  minds  have 
hitherto  over-abounded,  and  with  meekness  to  search  the  truth. 
Think  ye  are  men,  deem  it  not  impossible  for  you  to  err  ;  sift 
unpartially  your  own  hearts,  whether  it  be  force  of  reason  or 
vehemency  of  affection,  which  hath  bred  and  still  doth  feed  these 
opinions  in  you.  If  truth  do  any  where  manifest- itself,  seek  not 
to  smother  it  with  glosing  delusions,  acknowledge  the  greatness 
thereof,  and  think  it  your  best  victory  when  the  same  doth  prevail 
over  you. 

That  ye  have  been  earnest  in  speaking  or  writing  again  and 
again  the  contrary  way,  shall  be  no  blemish  or  discredit  at  all 
unto  you.  Amongst  so  many  so  huge  volumes  as  the  infinite 
pains  of  St.  Augustine  have  brought  forth,  what  one  hath  gotten 
him  greater  love,  commendation,  and  honour,  than  the  book 
wherein  he  carefully  collecteth  his  own  oversights,  and  sincerely 
condemneth  them  ?  Many  speeches  there  are  of  Job's  whereby 
his  wisdom  and  other  virtues  may  appear  ;  but  the  glory  of  an 
ingenuous  mind  he  hath  purchased  by  these  words  only,  "  Behold, 
I  will  lay  mine  hand  on  my  mouth  ;  I  have  spoken  once,  yet  will 
I  not  therefore  maintain  argument ;  yea  twice,  howbeit  for  that 
cause  further  I  will  not  proceed." 

Far  more  comfort  it  were  for  us  (so  small  is  the  joy  we  take  in 
these  strifes)  to  labour  under  the  same  yoke,  as  men  that  look  for 
the  same  eternal  reward  of  their  labours,  to  be  joined  with  you  in 
bands  of  indissoluble  love  and  amity,  to  live  as  if  our  persons 
being  many  our  souls  were  but  one,  rather  than  in  such  dismem- 
bered sort  to  spend  our  few  and  wretched  days  in  a  tedious  prose- 
cuting of  wearisome  contentions  ;  the  end  whereof,  if  they  have 
not  some  speedy  end,  will  be  heavy  even  on  both  sides.  Brought 
already  we  are  even  to  that  estate  which  Gregory  Nazianzen 
mournfully  describeth,  saying,  "  My  mind  leadeth  me  "  (sith  there 
is  no  other  remedy)  "  to  fly  and  to  convey  myself  into  some 
corner  out  of  sight,  where  I  may  scape  from  this  cloudy  tempest 
of  maliciousness,  whereby  all  parts  are  entered  into  a  deadly  war 


476  ENGLISH  PROSE 


amongst  themselves,  and  that  little  remnant  of  love  which  was,  is 
now  consumed  to  nothing.  The  only  godliness  we  glory  in,  is  to 
find  out  somewhat  whereby  we  may  judge  others  to  be  ungodly. 
Each  other's  faults  we  observe  as  matter  of  exprobration  and  not 
of  grief  By  these  means  we  are  grown  hateful  in  the  eyes  of  the 
heathens  themselves,  and  (which  woundeth  us  the  more  deeply) 
able  we  are  not  to  deny  but  that  we  have  deserved  their  hatred. 
With  the  better  sort  of  our  own  our  fame  and  credit  is  clean  lost. 
The  less  we  are  to  marvel  if  they  judge  vilely  of  us,  who  although 
we  did  well  would  hardly  allow  thereof  On  our  backs  they  also 
build  that  are  lewd,  and  what  we  object  one  against  another,  the 
same  they  use  to  the  utter  scorn  and  disgrace  of  us  all.  This 
we  have  gained  by  our  mutual  home-dissensions.  This  we  are 
worthily  rewarded  with,  which  are  more  forward  to  strive  than 
becometh  men  of  virtuous  and  mild  disposition." 

But  our  trust  in  the  Almighty  is,  that  with  us  contentions  are 
now  at  their  highest  float,  and  that  the  day  will  come  (for  what 
cause  of  despair  is  there  ?)  when  the  passions  of  former  enmity 
being  allayed,  we  shall  with  ten  times  redoubled  tokens  of  our 
unfeignedly  reconciled  love,  show  ourselves  each  towards  other 
the  same  which  Joseph  and  the  brethren  of  Joseph  were  at  the 
time  of  their  interview  in  Egypt.  Our  comfortable  expectation 
and  most  thirsty  desire  whereof  what  man  soever  amongst  you 
shall  any  way  help  to  satisfy  (as  we  truly  hope  there  is  no  one 
amongst  you  but  some  way  or  other  will),  the  blessings  of  the  God 
of  peace,  both  in  this  world  and  in  the  world  to  come,  be  upon 
him  more  than  the  stars  of  the  firmament  in  number. 


(From  the  Same.) 


MAN'S  DESIRE  FOR  HAPPINESS 

Now  if  men  had  not  naturally  this  desire  to  be  happy  how  were 
it  possible  that  all  men  should  have  it  ?  All  men  have.  There- 
fore this  desire  in  man  is  natural.  It  is  not  in  our  power  not  to 
do  the  same  ;  how  should  it  then  be  in  our  power  to  do  it  coldly 
or  remissly  ?  So  that  our  desire  being  natural  is  also  in  that 
degree  of  earnestness  whereunto  nothing  can  be  added.  And  is 
it  probable  that  (lod  should  frame  the  hearts  of  all  men  so  desir- 
ous of  that  which  no  man  may  obtain  .''      It  is  an  axiom  of  Nature 


RICHARD  HOOKER  477 


that  natural  desire  cannot  utterly  be  frustrate.  This  desire  of 
ours  being  natural  should  be  frustrate,  if  that  which  may  satisfy 
the  same  were  a  thing  impossible  for  man  to  aspire  unto.  Man 
doth  seek  a  triple  perfection  :  first  a  sensual,  consisting  in  those 
things  which  ver\'  life  itself  requireth  either  as  necessarj'  supple- 
ments, or  as  beauties  and  ornaments  thereof ;  then  an  intellectual, 
consisting  in  those  things  which  none  underneath  man  is  either 
capable  of  or  acquainted  with  ;  lastly  a  spiritual  and  divine,  con- 
sisting in  those  things  whereunto  we  tend  by  supernatural  means 
here,  but  cannot  here  attain  unto  them.  JThey  who  make  the 
first  of  these  three  the  scope  of  their  whole  life,  are  said  by  the 
Apostle  to  have  no  god  but  only  their  belly,  to  be  earthly-minded 
men.  Unto  the  second  they  bend  themselves,  who  seek  especially 
to  excel  in  all  such  knowledge  and  virtue  as. doth  most  commend 
men.  To  this  branch  belongeth  the  law  of  moral  and  civil  per- 
fection. That  there  is  somewhat  higher  than  either  of  these  two, 
no  other  proof  doth  need  than  the  ver)'  process  of  man's  desire, 
which  being  natural  should  be  frustrate,  if  there  were  not  some 
farther  thing  wherein  it  might  rest  at  the  length  contented,  which 
in  the  former  it  cannot  do.  For  man  doth  not  seem  to  rest  satis- 
fied, either  with  fruition  of  that  wherewith  his  life  is  preserved,  or 
with  performance  of  such  actions  as  advance  him  most  deservedly 
in  estimation  ;  but  doth  further  covet,  yea  oftentimes  manifestly 
pursue  with  great  sedulity  and  earnestness,  that  which  cannot 
stand  him  in  any  stead  for  vital  use  ;  that  which  exceedeth  the 
reach  of  sense  ;  yea  somewhat  above  capacity  of  reason,  some- 
what divine  and  heavenly,  which  with  hidden  exultation  it  rather 
surmiseth  than  conceiveth  ;  somewhat  it  seeketh,  and  what  that 
is  directly  it  knoweth  not,  yet  very  intentive  desire  thereof  doth 
so  incite  it,  that  all  other  known  delights  and  pleasures  are  laid 
aside,  they  give  place  to  the  search  of  this  but  only  suspected 
desire.  If  the  soul  of  man  did  serve  only  to  give  him  being  in 
this  life,  then  things  appertaining  unto  this  life  would  content  him, 
as  we  see  they  do  other  creatures  ;  which  creatures  enjoying  what 
they  live  by  seek  no  further,  but  in  this  contentation  do  show  a 
kind  of  acknowledgement  that  there  is  no  higher  good  which  doth 
any  way  belong  unto  them.  With  us  it  is  otherwise.  For 
although  the  beauties,  riches,  honours,  sciences,  virtues,  and  per- 
fections of  all  men  living,  were  in  the  present  possession  of  one  ; 
yet  somewhat  beyond  and  above  all  this  there  would  still  be 
sought  and  earnestly  thirsted  for.     So  that  Nature  even  in  this 


478  ENGLISH  PROSE 


life  doth  plainly  claim  and  call  for  a  more  divine  perfection  than 
either  of  these  two  that  have  been  mentioned. 


(From  the  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity,') 


DEFENCE  OF  CHURCH  CEREMONIAL 

Such  was  the  ancient  simplicity  and  softness  of  spirit  which 
sometimes  prevailed  in  the  world,  that  they  whose  words  were 
even  as  oracles  amflngst  men  seemed  evermore  loth  to  give 
sentence  against  any  thing  publicly  received  in  the  Church  of 
God,  except  it  were  wonderful  apparently  evil  ;  for  that  they  did 
not  so  much  incline  to  that  severity  which  delighteth  to  reprove 
the  least  things  it  seeth  amiss,  as  to  that  charity  which  is  unwill- 
ing to  behold  any  thing  that  duty  bindeth  it  to  reprove.  The 
state  of  this  present  age,  wherein  zeal  hath  drowned  charity,  and 
skill  meekness,  will  not  now  suffer  any  man  to  marvel,  whatso- 
ever he  shall  hear  reproved  by  whomsoever.  Those  rites  and 
ceremonies  of  the  Church  therefore,  which  are  the  self-same  now 
that  they  were  when  holy  and  virtuous  men  maintained  them 
against  profane  and  deriding  adversaries,  her  own  children  have 
at  this  day  in  derision.  Whether  justly  or  no,  it  shall  then 
appear,  when  all  things  are  heard  which  they  have  to  allege 
against  the  outward  received  orders  of  this  church.  Which  inas- 
much as  themselves  do  compare  unto  "  mint  and  cummin,"  grant- 
ing them  to  be  no  part  of  those  things  which  in  the  matter  of  polity 
are  weightier,  we  hope  that  for  small  things  their  strife  will  neither 
be  earnest  nor  long. 

The  sifting  of  that  which  is  objected  against  the  orders  of  the 
Church  in  particular,  doth  not  belong  unto  this  place.  Here  we 
are  to  discuss  only  those  general  exceptions,  which  have  been 
taken  at  any  time  against  them. 

First  therefore  to  the  end  that  their  nature  and  the  use  where- 
unto  they  serve  may  plainly  appear,  and  so  afterwards  their 
quality  the  better  be  discerned  ;  we  are  to  note,  that  in  every 
grand  or  main  public  duty  which  God  requireth  at  the  hands  of 
his  Church,  there  is,  besides  that  matter  and  form  wherein  the 
essence  thereof  consisteth,  a  certain  outward  fashion  whereby  the 
same  is  in  decent  sort  administered.  The  substance  of  all 
religious  actions   is   delivered   from   God   himself   in    few   words. 


RICHARD  HOOKER  479 


For  example's  sake,  in  the  sacraments  "  Unto  the  element  let 
the  word  be  added,  and  they  both  do  make  a  sacrament,"  saith 
St.  Augustine.  Baptism  is  given  by  the  element  of  water,  and 
that  prescript  form  of  words  which  the  Church  of  Christ  doth  use ; 
the  sacrament  of  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ  is  administered  in 
the  elements  of  bread  and  wine,  if  those  mystical  words  be  added 
thereunto.  But  the  due  and  decent  form  of  administering  those 
holy  sacraments  doth  require  a  great  deal  more. 

The  end  which  is  aimed  at  in  setting  down  the  outward  form 
of  all  religious  actions  is  the  edification  of  the  Church.  Now  men 
are  edified,  when  either  their  understanding  is  taught  somewhat 
whereof  in  such  actions  it  behoveth  all  men  to  consider,  or  when 
their  hearts  are  moved  with  any  affection  suitable  thereunto  ; 
when  their  minds  are  in  any  sort  stirred  up  unto  that  reverence, 
devotion,  attention,  and  due  regard,  which  in  those  cases  seemeth 
requisite.  Because  therefore  unto  this  purpose  not  only  speech 
but  sundry  sensible  means  besides  have  always  been  thought 
necessary,  and  especially  those  means  which  being  object  to  the 
eye,  the  liveliest  and  the  most  apprehensive  sense  of  all  other, 
have  in  that  respect  seemed  the  fittest  to  make  a  deep  and  a 
strong  impression  ;  from  hence  have  risen  not  only  a  number  of 
prayers,  readings,  questionings,  exhortings,  but  even  of  visible 
signs  also  ;  which  being  used  in  performance  of  holy  actions,  are 
undoubtedly  most  effectual  to  open  such  matter,  as  men  when 
they  know  and  remember  carefully,  must  needs  be  a  great  deal 
the  better  informed  to  what  effect  such  duties  serve.  We  must 
not  think  but  that  there  is  some  ground  of  reason  even  in  nature, 
whereby  it  cometh  to  pass  that  no  nation  under  heaven  either 
doth  or  ever  did  suffer  public  actions  which  are  of  weight,  whether 
they  be  civil  and  temporal  or  else  spiritual  and  sacred,  to  pass 
without  some  visible  solemnity  :  the  very  strangeness  whereof  and 
difference  from  that  which  is  common,  doth  cause  popular  eyes 
to  observe  and  to  mark  the  same.  Words,  both  because  they  are 
common,  and  do  not  so  strongly  move  the  fancy  of  man,  are  for 
the  most  part  but  slightly  heard :  and  therefore  with  singular 
wisdom  it  hath  been  provided,  that  the  deeds  of  men  which  are 
made  in  the  presence  of  witnesses  should  pass  not  only  with 
words,  but  also  with  certain  sensible  actions,  the  memory  whereof 
is  far  more  easy  and  durable  than  the  memory  of  speech  can  be. 

(From  the  Same.) 


48o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


THE  DOCTRINE    OF    GRACE 

Wherein  then,  do  we  disagree  ?  We  disagree  about  the  nature 
of  the  very  essence  of  the  medicine  whereby  Christ  cureth  our 
disease  ;  about  the  manner  of  applying  it ;  about  the  number  and 
the  power  of  means,  which  God  requireth  in  us  for  the  effectual 
applying  thereof  to  our  soul's  comfort.  When  they  are  required 
to  show,  what  the  righteousness  is  whereby  a  Christian  man  is 
justified,  they  answer,  that  it  is  a  divine  spiritual  quality  ;  which 
quality  received  into  the  soul,  doth  first  make  it  to  be  one  of 
them  who  are  born  of  God  ;  and  secondly,  endue  it  with  power 
to  bring  forth  such  works,  as  they  do  that  are  born  of  Him;  even 
as  the  soul  of  man  being  joined  unto  his  body,  doth  first  make 
him  to  be  in  the  number  of  reasonable  creatures,  and  secondly 
enable  him  to  perform  the  natural  functions  which  are  proper  to 
his  kind  ;  that  it  maketh  the  soul  gracious  and  amiable  in  the 
sight  of  God,  in  regard  whereof  it  is  termed  Grace ;  that  it 
purgeth,  purifieth,  washeth  out,  all  the  stains  and  pollutions  of 
sin  ;  that  by  it,  through  the  merits  of  Christ  we  are  delivered,  as 
from  sin,  so  from  eternal  death  and  condemnation,  the  reward  of 
sin.  This  grace  they  will  have  to  be  applied  by  infusion  ;  to  the 
end,  that  as  the  body  is  warm  by  the  heat  which  is  in  the  body, 
so  the  soul  might  be  righteous  by  inherent  grace  ;  which  grace 
they  make  capable  of  increase  ;  as  the  body  may  be  more  and 
more  warm,  so  the  soul  more  and  more  justified,  according  as 
grace  shall  be  augmented  ;  the  augmentation  whereof  is  merited 
by  good  works,  as  good  works  are  made  meritorious  by  it.  Where- 
fore the  first  receipt  of  grace  is  in  their  divinity  the  first  justi- 
fication ;  the  increase  thereof,  the  second  justification.  As  grace 
may  be  increased  by  the  merit  of  good  works  ;  so  it  may  be 
diminished  by  the  demerit  of  sins  venial  ;  it  may  be  lost  by 
mortal  sin.  Inasmuch,  therefore,  as  it  is  needful  in  the  one  case 
to  repair,  in  the  other  to  recover,  the  loss  which  is  made  ;  the 
infusion  of  grace  hath  her  sundry  after-meals  ;  for  which  cause 
they  make  many  ways  to  apply  the  infusion  of  grace.  It  is 
applied  unto  infants  through  baptism,  without  either  faith  or 
works,  and  in  them  it  really  taketh  away  original  sin,  and  the 
punishment  due  unto  it  ;  it  is  applied  unto  infidels  and  wicked 
men  in  their  first  justification  through  baptism,  without  works, 
yet   not  without  faith  ;  and  it  taketh  away  both   sin  actual  and 


RICHARD  HOOKER 


original,  together  with  all  whatsoever  punishment  eternal  or 
temporal  thereby  deserved.  Unto  such  as  have  attained  the 
first  justification,  that  is  to  say,  the  first  receipt  of  grace,  it  is 
applied  further  by  good  works  to  the  increase  of  former  grace, 
which  is  the  second  justification.  If  they  work  more  and  more, 
grace  doth  more  and  more  increase,  and  they  are  more  and  more 
justified.  To  such  as  have  diminished  it  by  venial  sins,  it  is 
applied  by  holy  water,  Ave  Marias,  crossings,  papal  salutations, 
and  such  like,  which  serve  for  reparations  of  grace  decayed.  To 
such  as  have  lost  it  through  mortal  sin,  it  is  applied  by  the  sacra- 
ment (as  they  term  it)  of  penance  ;  which  sacrament  hath  force 
to  confer  grace  anew,  yet  in  such  sort,  that  being  so  conferred,  it 
hath  not  altogether  so  much  power  as  at  the  first.  For  it  only 
cleanseth  out  the  stain  or  guilt  of  sin  committed,  and  changeth 
the  punishment  eternal  into  a  temporal  satisfactory  punishment, 
here,  if  time  do  serve,  if  not,  hereafter  to  be  endured,  except  it  be 
either  lightened  by  masses,  works  of  charity,  pilgrimages,  fasts 
and  such  like  ;  or  else  shortened  by  pardon  for  term,  or  by 
plenary  pardon  quite  removed  and  taken  away.  This  is  the 
mystery  of  the  man  of  sin.  This  maze  the  Church  of  Rome  doth 
cause  her  followers  to  tread,  when  they  ask  her  the  way  of 
justification.  I  cannot  stand  now  to  unrip  this  building  and  to 
sift  it  piece  by  piece  ;  only  I  will  set  a  frame  of  apostolical  erec- 
tion by  it  in  few  words,  that  it  may  befall  Babylon,  in  presence 
of  that  which  God  hath  builded,  as  it  happened  unto  Dagon 
before  the  ark.  (From  the  Sermon  on  Justijicaiion.) 


MAN'S    SINFULNESS 

We  are  but  upbraided,  when  we  are  honoured  with  names  and 
titles  whereunto  our  lives  and  manners  are  not  suitable.  If  we 
have  indeed  our  fruit  in  holiness,  notwithstanding  we  must  note, 
that  the  more  we  abound  therein,  the  more  need  we  have  to  crave 
that  we  may  be  strengthened  and  supported.  Our  very  virtues 
may  be  snares  unto  us.  The  enemy  that  waiteth  for  all  occasions 
to  work  our  ruin,  hath  ever  found  it  harder  to  overthrow  an 
humble  sinner  than  a  proud  saint.  There  is  no  man's  case  so 
dangerous  as  his,  whom  Satan  hath  persuaded  that  his  own 
righteousness  shall  present  him  pure  and  blameless  in  the  sight 
VOL.   I  2  I 


482  ENGLISH  PROSE 


of  God.  If  we  could  say,  "  we  are  not  guilty  of  any  thing  at  all 
in  our  own  consciences "  (we  know  ourselves  far  from  this 
innocency,  we  cannot  say,  we  know  nothing  by  ourselves  ;  but  if 
we  could),  should  we  therefore  plead  not  guilty  in  the  presence  of 
our  Judge,  that  sees  ftirther  into  our  hearts  than  we  ourselves  are 
able  to  see  ?  If  our  hands  did  never  offer  violence  to  our 
brethren,  a  bloody  thought  doth  prove  us  murderers  before  Him  ;  if 
we  had  never  opened  our  mouths  to  utter  any  scandalous,  offen- 
sive, or  hurtful  word,  the  cry  of  our  secret  cogitations  is  heard  in 
the  ears  of  God.  If  we  did  not  commit  the  evils  which  we  do 
daily  and  hourly,  either  in  deeds,  words,  or  thoughts,  yet  in  the 
good  things  which  we  do,  how  many  defects  are  there  inter- 
mingled !  God,  in  that  which  is  done,  respecteth  specially  the 
mind  and  intention  of  the  doer.  Cut  off  then  all  those  things 
wherein  we  have  regarded  our  own  glory,  those  things  which 
we  do  to  please  men,  or  to  satisfy  our  own  liking,  those  things 
which  we  do  with  any  by-respect,  not  sincerely  and  purely  for 
the  love  of  God  ;  and  a  small  score  will  serve  for  the  number 
of  our  righteous  deeds.  Let  the  holiest  and  best  thing  we  do  be 
considered.  We  are  never  better  affected  unto  God  than  when 
we  pray  ;  yet  when  we  pray,  how  are  our  affections  many  times 
distracted !  How  little  reverence  do  we  show  to  the  grand 
majesty  of  that  God  unto  Whom  we  speak  !  How  little  remorse 
of  our  own  miseries  !  How  little  taste  of  the  sweet  influence  of 
His  tender  mercy  do  we  feel  !  Are  we  not  as  unwilling  many 
times  to  begin,  and  as  glad  to  make  an  end,  as  if  God,  in  saying 
"  Call  upon  me,"  had  set  us  a  very  burdensome  task  ? 

It  may  seem  somewhat  extreme,  which  I  will  speak  ;  there- 
fore let  every  man  judge  of  it  even  as  his  own  heart  shall  tell 
him,  and  no  otherwise  ;  I  will  but  only  make  a  demand  ;  If  God 
should  yield  to  us,  not  as  unto  Abraham,  if  fifty,  forty,  thirty, 
twenty,  yea,  or  if  ten  good  persons  could  be  found  in  a  city,  for 
their  sakes  that  city  should  not  be  destroyed  ;  but,  if  God  should 
make  us  an  offer  thus  large.  Search  all  the  generations  of  men 
sithence  the  fall  of  your  father  Adam,  find  one  man,  that  hath 
done  any  one  action,  which  hath  past  from  him  pure,  without  any 
stain  or  blemish  at  all  ;  and  for  that  one  man's  one  only  action, 
neither  man  nor  angel  shall  feel  the  torments  which  are  prepared 
for  both  ;  do  you  think  that  this  ransom,  to  deliver  men  and 
angels,  would  be  found  among  the  sons  of  men  ?  The  best  things 
we  do  have  somewhat  in  them  to  be  pardoned.      How  then  can 


RICHARD  HOOKER  483 


we  do  any  thing  meritorious,  and  worthy  to  be  rewarded  ?  In- 
deed, God  doth  hberally  promise  whatsoever  appertaineth  to  a 
blessed  life,  unto  as  many  as  sincerely  keep  His  law,  though  they 
be  not  able  exactly  to  keep  it.  Wherefore,  we  acknowledge  a 
dutiful  necessity  of  doing  well,  but  the  meritorious  dignity  of  well 
doing  we  utterly  renounce.  We  see  how  far  we  are  from  the 
perfect  righteousness  of  the  law  ;  the  little  fruit  which  we  have  in 
holiness,  it  is,  God  knoweth,  corrupt  and  unsound  ;  we  put  no 
confidence  at  all  in  it,  we  challenge  nothing  in  the  world  for  it, 
we  dare  not  call  God  to  a  reckoning,  as  if  we  had  Him  in  our 
debt-books  ;  our  continual  suit  to  Him  is,  and  must  be,  to  bear 
with  our  infirmities,  to  pardon  our  offences. 

(From  the  Same.) 


HOOKER'S  DEFENCE  OF  HIMSELF 

Touching  the  first  point  of  his  discovery,  which  is  about  the 
matter  of  predestination,  to  set  down  that  I  spake  (for  I  have  it 
written),  to  declare  and  confirm  the  several  branches  thereof, 
would  be  tedious  now  in  this  writing,  where  I  have  so  many 
things  to  touch  that  I  can  but  touch  them  only.  Neither  is  it 
herein  so  needful  for  me  to  justify  my  speech,  when  the  very 
place  and  presence  where  I  spake,  doth  itself  speak  sufficiently 
for  my  clearing.  This  matter  was  not  broached  in  a  blind  alley, 
or  uttered  where  none  was  to  hear  it,  that  had  skill  with  authority 
to  control,  or  covertly  insinuated  by  some  gliding  sentence. 

That  which  I  taught  was  at  Paul's  Cross  ;  it  was  not  huddled 
in  amongst  other  matters,  in  such  sort  that  it  could  pass  without 
noting  ;  it  was  opened,  it  was  proved,  it  was  some  reasonable , 
time  stood  upon.  I  see  not  which  way  my  Lord  of  London,  who 
was  present  and  heard  it,  can  excuse  so  great  a  fault,  as  patiently, 
without  rebuke  or  controlment  afterwards,  to  hear  any  man  there 
teach  otherwise  than  "  the  Word  of  God  doth,"  not  as  it  is  under- 
stood by  the  private  interpretation  of  some  one  or  two  men,  or 
by  a  special  construction  received  in  some  few  books,  but  as  it  is 
understood  "by  all  the  churches  professing  the  gospel "  ;  by  them 
all,  and  therefore  even  by  our  own  also  amongst  others.  A  man 
that  did  mean  to  prove  that  he  speaketh,  would  surely  take  the 
measure  of  his  words  shorter. 

The  next  thing  discovered  is  an  opinion  about  the  assurance 


484  ENGLISH  PROSE 


of  men's  persuasion  in  matters  of  faith.  I  have  taught,  he  saith, 
"  That  the  assurance  of  things  which  we  beheve  by  the  word,  is 
not  so  certain  as  of  that  we  perceive  by  sense."  And  is  it  as 
certain  .'  Yea,  I  taught,  as  he  himself  I  trust  will  not  deny,  that 
the  things  which  God  doth  promise  in  His  word,  are  surer  unto 
us  than  any  thing  we  touch,  handle,  or  see  ;  but  are  we  so  sure 
and  certain  of  them  ?  If  we  be,  why  doth  God  so  often  prove 
His  promises  unto  us,  as  He  doth,  by  arguments  taken  from  our 
sensible  experience  ?  We  must  be  surer  of  the  proof  than  of  the 
thing  proved,  otherwise  it  is  no  proof  How  is  it,  that  if  ten  men 
do  all  look  upon  the  moon,  every  one  of  them  knoweth  it  as 
certainly  to  be  the  moon  as  another ;  but  many  believing  one  and 
the  same  promise,  all  have  not  one  and  the  same  fulness  of  per- 
suasion .''  How  falleth  it  out  that  men  being  assured  of  any  thing 
by  sense,  can  be  no  surer  of  it  than  they  are  ?  whereas  the 
strongest  in  faith  that  liveth  upon  the  earth,  hath  always  need  to 
labour,  and  strive,  and  pray,  that  his  assurance  concerning 
heavenly  and  spiritual  things  may  grow,  increase,   and  be   aug- 

"^^"^^'^  ^  (From  the  Answer  to  Travers.) 


JUSTICE  AND  THE   HARMONY  OF  CREATION 

Justice,  that  which  flourishing  upholdeth,  and  not  prevailing 
disturbeth,  shaketh,  threateneth  with  utter  desolation  and  ruin 
the  whole  world :  justice,  that  whereby  the  poor  have  their 
succour,  the  rich  their  ease,  the  potent  their  honour,  the  living 
their  peace,  the  souls  of  the  righteous  departed  their  endless  rest 
and  quietness  :  justice,  that  which  God  and  angels  and  men  are 
principally  exalted  by  :  justice,  the  chiefest  matter  contended  for 
at  this  day  in  the  Christian  world  :  in  a  word,  justice,  that  where- 
on not  only  all  our  present  happiness,  but  in  the  kingdom  of  God 
our  future  joy  dependeth.  So  that,  whether  we  be  in  love  with 
the  one  or  with  the  other,  with  things  present  or  things  to  come, 
with  earth  or  with  heaven  ;  in  that  which  is  so  greatly  available 
to  both,  none  can  but  wish  to  be  instructed.  Wherein  the  first 
thing  to  be  inquired  of  is,  the  nature  of  justice  in  general  :  the 
second,  that  justice  which  is  in  God  ;  the  last,  that  whereby  we 
ourselves  being  just  are  in  expectancy  of  life  here  promised  in 
this  sentence  of  the  prophet,  "  By  faith  the  just  shall  live." 


RICHARD  HOOKER  485 

God  hath  created  nothing  simply  for  itself:  but  each  thing  in 
all  things,  and  of  every  thing  each  part  in  other  hath  such  interest, 
that  in  the  whole  world  nothing  is  found  whereunto  anything 
created  can  say,  "  I  need  thee  not."  The  prophet  Hosea,  to 
express  this,  maketh  by  a  singular  grace  of  speech  the  people 
of  Israel  suitors  unto  corn  and  wine  and  oil,  as  men  are  unto 
men  which  have  power  to  do  them  good  ;  corn  and  wine  and  oil 
supplicants  unto  the  earth  ;  the  earth  to  the  heavens  ;  the  heavens 
to  God.  "  In  that  day,  saith  the  Lord,  I  will  hear  the  heavens, 
and  the  heavens  shall  hear  the  earth,  and  the  earth  shall  hear 
the  corn  and  wine  and  oil,  and  the  corn  and  wine  and  oil  shall 
hear  Israel."  They  are  said  to  hear  that  which  we  ask  ;  and  we 
to  ask  the  thing  which  we  want,  and  wish  to  have.  So  hath  that 
supreme  commander  disposed  it,  that  each  creature  should  have 
some  peculiar  task  and  charge,  reaching  further  than  only  unto 
its  own  preservation.  What  good  the  sun  doth,  by  heat  and  light ; 
the  moon  and  stars,  by  their  secret  influence  ;  the  air,  and  wind, 
and  water,  by  every  their  several  qualities  :  what  commodity  the 
earth,  receiving  their  services,  yieldeth  again  unto  her  inhabitants: 
how  beneficial  by  nature  the  operations  of  all  things  are  ;  how  far 
the  use  and  profit  of  them  is  extended  ;  somewhat  the  greatness 
of  the  works  of  God,  but  much  more  our  own  inadvertency  and 
carelessness,  doth  disable  us  to  conceive.  Only  this,  because  we 
see,  we  cannot  be  ignorant  of,  that  whatsoever  doth  in  dignity 
and  pre-eminence  of  nature  most  excel,  by  it  other  things  receive 
most  benefit  and  commodity. 

(From  the  Sermon  on  the  Nature  of  Pride.') 


A  VIRTUOUS  WOMAN 

The  death  of  the  saints  of  God  is  precious  in  His  sight.  And 
shall  it  seem  unto  us  superfluous  at  such  times  as  these  are  to 
hear  in  what  manner  they  have  ended  their  lives  ?  The  Lord 
Himself  hath  not  disdained  so  exactly  to  register  in  the  book  of 
life  after  what  sort  His  servants  have  closed  up  their  days  on 
earth,  that  He  descendeth  even  to  their  very  meanest  actions, 
what  meat  they  have  longed  for  in  their  sickness,  what  they  have 
spoken  unto  their  children,  kinsfolk,  and  friends,  where  they  have 
willed  their  dead  carcasses  to  be  laid,  how  they  have  framed  their 


486  ENGLISH  PROSE 


wills  and  testaments,  yea  the  very  turning  of  their  faces  to  this 
side  or  that,  the  setting  of  their  eyes,  the  degrees  whereby  their 
natural  heat  hath  departed  from  them,  their  cries,  their  groans, 
their  pantings,  breathings,  and  last  gaspings.  He  hath  most 
solemnly  commended  unto  the  memory  of  all  generations.  The 
care  of  the  living  both  to  live  and  to  die  well  must  needs  be  some- 
what increased,  when  they  know  that  their  departure  shall  not  be 
folded  up  in  silence,  but  the  ears  of  many  be  made  acquainted 
with  it.  Again  when  they  hear  how  mercifully  God  hath  dealt 
with  others  in  the  hour  of  their  last  need,  besides  the  praise  which 
they  give  to  God,  and  the  joy  which  they  have  or  should  have  by 
reason  of  their  fellowship  and  communion  of  saints,  is  not  their 
hope  also  much  confirmed  against  the  day  of  their  own  dissolu- 
tion ?  Finally,  the  sound  of  these  things  doth  not  so  pass  the 
ears  of  them  that  are  most  loose  and  dissolute  of  life,  but  it 
causeth  them  some  time  or  other  to  wish  in  their  hearts,  "  Oh 
that  we  might  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  that  our  end 
may  be  like  his  !  "  Howbeit  because  to  spend  herein  many  words 
would  be  to  strike  even  as  many  wounds  into  their  minds  whom 
I  rather  wish  to  comfort  :  therefore  concerning  this  virtuous 
gentlewoman  only  this  little  I  speak,  and  that  of  knowledge, 
"  She  lived  a  dove,  and  died  a  lamb."  And  if  amongst  so  many 
virtues,  hearty  devotion  towards  God,  towards  poverty  tender 
compassion,  motherly  affection  towards  servants,  towards  friends 
even  serviceable  kindness,  mild  behaviour  and  harmless  meaning 
towards  all  ;  if,  where  so  many  virtues  were  eminent,  any  be 
worthy  of  special  mention,  I  wish  her  dearest  friends  of  that  sex 
to  be  her  nearest  followers  in  two  things  :  Silence,  saving  only 
where  duty  did  exact  speech  ;  and  Patience,  even  then  when 
extremity  of  pains  did  enforce  grief.  "  Blessed  are  they  which 
die  in  the  Lord."  And  concerning  the  dead  which  are  blessed, 
let  not  the  hearts  of  any  living  be  overcharged,  with  grief  over- 
troubled. 

(From  a  Funeral  Sermon.) 


AN  APPEAL 

I  APPEAL  to  the  conscience  of  every  soul,  that  hath  been  truly 
converted  by  us,  Whether  his  heart  were  never  raised  up  to  God 


RICHARD  HOOKER  487 

by  our  preaching  ;  whether  the  words  of  our  exhortation  never 
wrung  any  tear  of  a  penitent  heart  from  his  eyes  ;  whether  his 
soul  never  reaped  any  joy,  any  comfort,  any  consolation  in  Christ 
Jesus,  by  our  sacraments,  and  prayers,  and  psalms,  and  thanks- 
giving ;  whether  he  were  never  bettered,  but  always  worsed  by  us. 
O  merciful  God  !  If  heaven  and  earth  in  this  case  do  not 
witness  with  us,  and  against  them,  let  us  be  razed  out  from  the 
land  of  the  living  !  Let  the  earth  on  which  we  stand  swallow  us 
quick,  as  it  hath  done  Corah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram  !  But  if  we 
belong  unto  the  Lord  our  God,  and  have  not  forsaken  Hkn  ;  if  our 
priests,  the  sons  of  Aaron,  minister  unto  the  Lord,  and  the  Levites 
in  their  office  ;  if  we  offer  unto  the  Lord  e\'ery  morning  and  every 
evening  the  burnt -offerings  and  sweet  incense  of  prayers  and 
thanksgivings  ;  if  the  bread  be  set  in  order  upon  the  pure  table, 
and  the  candlestick  of  gold,  with  the  lamps  thereof,  to  burn  every 
morning  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  amongst  us  God's  blessed  sacraments 
be  duly  administered.  His  holy  Word  sincerely  and  daily  preached; 
if  we  keep  the  watch  of  the  Lord  our  God,  and  if  ye  have  forsaken 
Him  :  then  doubt  ye  not,  this  God  is  with  us  as  a  captain.  His 
priests  with  sounding  trumpets  must  cry  alarm  against  you  ;  "  O 
ye  children  of  Israel,  fight  not  against  the  Lord  God  of  your 
fathers,  for  ye  shall  not  prosper." 

(From  a  Sermon  on  St.  Jade's  Epistles.') 


RICHARD    KNOLLES 

[Richard  Knolles,  who  was  of  a  good  Northamptonshire  family,  was  born 
at  Cold  Ashby — one  of  the  numerous  Ashbys  of  that  county,  between  Naseby 
and  Crick — in  an  uncertain  year.  He  took  his  degree  at  Oxford  in  1564,  and 
was  elected  to  a  fellowship  in  Lincoln  College.  Sir  Roger  Manwood,  the 
well-known  Kentish  lawyer,  installed  Knolles  as  master  of  a  free  grammar 
school  which  he  had  founded  at  Sandwich,  and  in  this  office  the  historian  of 
the  Turks  spent  by  far  the  greater  part  of  his  life.  The  huge  and  remarkable 
book  which  made  him  well  known  in  his  own  time,  and  has  gained  him  a 
posthumous  fame  secure,  though  somewhat  second-hand,  must  have  occupied 
him,  in  point  of  preparation,  for  many  years.  But  it  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  formally  begun  till  after  the  death  in  1 592  of  Sir  Roger  Manwood,  when  his 
son  Peter,  afterwards  Sir  Peter,  as  Knolles  records  in  his  first  preface,  "  moved 
him"  to  it.  It  was  published  in  1603,  the  second  edition  appearing  in  1610, 
and  the  third  in  1621,  details  not  discreditable  to  the  book-buying  habits  of 
our  ancestors,  for  the  volume,  though  very  handsome  and  illustrated  with 
delightful  portraits  of  Sultans,  contains  more  than  fourteen  hundred  closely 
packed  folio  pages.  Knolles  died  in  the  year  of  the  publication  of  the  second 
edition.] 

For  one  person  to  whom  Knolles  is  known  in  his  own  work,  he 
is  probably  known  to  hundreds  by  the  panegyric,  a  little  exagger- 
ated perhaps,  of  Johnson  in  the  Rambler^  by  the  affectionate 
notices  of  Byron,  and  by  the  reference  in  Thackeray's  Virginians. 
He  has  been  decried  by  other  authorities  of  less  importance  and 
less  judgment,  and  it  may  be  admitted  that  to  have  a  thorough 
appreciation  of  him,  it  is  perhaps  necessary  to  have  read  him,  as 
Byron  certainly  and  Johnson  probably  did,  in  early  youth.  Not 
that  both  his  matter  and  his  style  do  not  deserve  praise  from  the 
sanest  judgment  ;  but  his  immense  volume,  bestowed  upon  sub- 
jects of  inferior  interest  and  importance,  may  give  a  little  pause  to 
the  critic  and  very  much  to  the  idle  or  the  busy  reader.  The 
main  body  of  Knolles's  book  covers  a  period  of  not  much  more 
than  two  hundred  years,  and  at  a  rough  estimate  this  part  is  by 

489 


490  ENGLISH  PROSE 


itself  as  bulky  as  the  whole  of  Gibbon's  History.  This  immense 
space,  given  to  what  Johnson  himself  calls  "a  remote  and  bar- 
barous people,  to  enterprises  and  revolutions  of  which  none  desire 
to  be  informed,"  does  not  invite  the  explorer.  Yet  Knolles  has 
very  great  merits.  It  must  be  remembered,  of  course,  that  when 
Johnson  said  that  "none  of  our  writers  can  justly  contest  his 
superiority,"  the  number  of  "our  writers"  who  had  with  great 
literary  power  undertaken  history  on  the  large  scale  was  very 
small.  Raleigh  and  Clarendon  were  about  the  only  authors  who 
could  contest  the  primacy  with  Knolles,  and  though  to  us  it 
may  seem  that  the  former  in  parts,  and  the  latter  as  a  whole,  is 
far  above  the  historian  of  the  Turks,  some  fight  may  be  made  for 
Johnson's  view.  Knolles  has  not  the  magnificent  purple  patches 
of  the  History  of  the  World.,  nor  the  monumental  description  of 
incident  and  character  to  be  found  in  the  History  of  the  Rebellion, 
but  he  is  much  less  unequal  than  Raleigh,  and  his  sentences  are 
almost  entirely  free  from  the  labyrinthine  intricacies  of  Clarendon. 
He  belongs,  indeed,  to  (and  with  his  greater  contemporary 
Hooker  is  nearly  the  last  of)  those  writers  of  English  prose  who, 
modelling  themselves  chiefly  on  Latin,  achieved  between  the 
middle  and  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century  a  style  far  less  full  of 
movement  and  colour  than  the  styles  of  their  immediate  succes- 
sors, but  also  free  from  some  technical  blemishes  and  extrava- 
gances into  which  those  successors  frequently  fell.  And,  besides 
this  merit  as  a  mere  writer,  he  has  a  greater  and  rarer  merit  as  a 
writer  of  history.  He  has  his  obscure  and  complicated  matter 
perfectly  in  hand,  he  has  evidently  digested  it  in  his  own  mind 
before  attempting  to  present  it  to  the  reader,  and  there  is  conse- 
quently about  his  book  a  sense  of  order,  ease,  and  proportion 
which  is  often  wanting  in  the  work  of  far  more  brilliant  pens,  of 
deeper  scholars,  of  men  of  wider  and  more  original  historic  view. 
He  has  also  very  considerable  narrative  power,  and  knows  how  to 
keep  the  reader's  interest  up — a  gift  not  so  common  in  the  his- 
torian as  it  should  be.  He  belongs,  from  his  period,  almost 
inevitably  to  what  may  be  called  the  "  speech  "  school  of  history, 
and  his  speeches  are  naturally  among  his  most  laboured  passages. 
But  this  was  the  trick  of  his  authorities  and  of  the  time,  and  it  is 
not  unsuitable  to  his  general  style  of  dealing.  And  the  same  may 
be  said  of  his  set  pieces  of  moralising  (such  as  that  on  the  death 
of  Amurath  given  below),  inferior  as  they  are  to  the  great 
"  patches "  alluded  to  above,  which  we  have  of  a  similar  kind 


RICHARD  KNOLLES  491 

from  the  hand  of  Raleigh  or  his  coadjutors.  Altogether  Knolles 
may  be  pronounced,  according  to  the  standards  and  requirements 
of  his  time,  a  singuhirly  complete  historian,  and  a  great  crafts- 
man, if  not  exactly  a  great  artist,  in  literature. 

George  Saintsbury. 


AMURATH,  AN  EXAMPLE  OF  THE  VANITY  OF 
WORLDLY  HONOUR 

Thus  lieth  great  Amurath,  erst  not  inferior  unto  the  greatest 
monarchs  of  that  age,  dead  almost  in  despair  :  a  worthy  mirror 
of  honour's  frailty  ;  yielding  unto  the  worldly  man  in  the  end, 
neither  comfort  nor  relief.  Who  had  fought  greater  battles  ? 
who  had  gained  greater  victories,  or  obtained  more  glorious 
triumphs  than  had  Amurath  ?  Who  by  the  spoils  of  so  many 
mighty  kings  and  princes,  and  by  the  conquest  of  so  many  proud 
and  warlike  nations,  again  restored  and  established  the  Turk's 
kingdom,  before  by  Tamerlane  and  the  Tartars  in  a  manner  clean 
defaced.  He  it  was  that  burst  the  heart  of  the  proud  Grecians, 
establishing  his  empire  at  Hadrianople,  even  in  the  centre  of  their 
bowels  :  from  whence  have  proceeded  so  many  miseries  and 
calamities  into  the  greatest  part  of  Christendom,  as  no  tongue  is 
able  to  express.  He  it  was  that  first  brake  down  the  Hexamile 
or  wall  of  separation  on  the  Strait  of  Corinth,  and  conquered  the 
greater  part  of  Peloponesus.  He  it  was  that  subdued  unto  the 
Turks  so  many  great  countries  and  provinces  in  Asia  ;  that  in 
plain  field  and  set  battle  overthrew  many  puissant  kings  and 
princes,  and  brought  them  under  his  subjection  ;  who  having  slain 
Vladislaus  the  King  of  Polonia  and  Hungary,  and  more  than  once 
chased  out  of  the  field  Huniades,  that  famous  and  redoubted 
warrior,  had  in  his  proud  and  ambitious  heart,  promised  unto 
himself  the  conquest  of  a  great  part  of  Christendom.  But  O  how 
far  was  he  now  changed  from  the  man  he  then  was  !  how  far  did 
these  his  last  speeches  differ  from  the  course  of  his  forepassed 
life  !  full  of  such  base  passionate  complaints  and  lamentations, 
as  beseemed  not  a  man  of  his  place  and  spirit  ;  but  some  vile 
wretch  overtaken  with  despair,  and  yet  afraid  to  die.  Where 
were  now  those  haughty  thoughts,  those  lofty  looks,  those 
thundering  and  commanding  speeches,  whereat  so  many  great 
commanders,  so  many  troops  and  legions,  so  many  thousands  of 
492 


RICHARD    KNOLLES  493 

armed  soldiers  were  wont  to  tremble  and  quake  ?  Where  is  that 
head,  before  adorned  with  so  many  trophies  and  triumphs  ? 
Where  is  that  victorious  hand  that  swayed  so  many  sceptres  ? 
Where  is  the  majesty  of  his  power  and  strength,  that  commanded 
over  so  many  nations  and  kingdoms  ?  O  how  is  the  case  now 
altered  !  He  lieth  now  dead,  a  ghastly  carcase,  a  clod  of  clay 
unregarded,  his  hands  closed,  his  eyes  shut,  and  his  feet  stretched 
out,  which  erst  proudly  traced  the  countries  by  him  subdued  and 
conquered.  And  now  of  such  infinite  riches,  such  unmeasurable 
wealth,  such  huge  treasures,  such  stately  honours  and  vain-glorious 
praises  as  he  in  his  lifetime  enjoyed ;  his  frail  body  enjoyeth  nothing, 
but  left  all  behind  it.  O  the  weak  condition  of  man's  nature  ! 
O  the  vain  glory  of  mortal  creatures  !  O  the  blind  and  perverse 
thoughts  of  foolish  men  !  Why  do  we  so  magnify  ourselves .? 
Why  are  we  so  puffed  up  with  pride  ?  Why  do  we  so  much  set 
our  minds  upon  riches,  authority,  and  other  vanities  of  this  life  ? 
Whereof  never  man  had  yet  one  day's  assurance,  and  at  our  most 
need  and  when  we  least  think,  quite  forsake  us  ;  leaving  even 
them  that  most  sought  after  them,  and  most  abounded  in  them, 
shrouded  oftentimes  in  the  sheet  of  dishonour  and  shame. 

(From  the  Generall  Historic  of  the  Turkes.) 


MAHOMET  AND   IRENE 

Now  amongst  many  fair  virgins  taken  prisoners  by  the  Turks 
at  the  winning  of  Constantinople,  was  one  Irene,  a  Greek  born, 
of  such  incomparable  beauty  and  rare  perfection,  both  of  body 
and  mind,  as  if  nature  had  in  her,  to  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
laboured  to  have  shown  her  greatest  skill ;  so  prodigally  she  had 
bestowed  upon  her,  all  the  graces  that  might  beautify  or  commend 
that  her  so  curious  a  work.  This  paragon  was  by  him  that  by 
chance  had  taken  her,  presented  unto  the  great  sultan  Mahomet 
himself,  as  a  jewel  so  fit  for  no  man's  wearing  as  his  own  :  by  the 
beauty  and  secret  virtues  w-hereof,  he  found  himself  evt-n  upon 
the  first  view  not  a  little  moved.  Nevertheless,  having  his  head 
as  then  full  of  troubles,  and  above  all  things  careful  for  the  assur- 
ing of  the  imperial  city  of  Constantinople,  by  him  but  even  then 
won  ;  he  for  the  present  committed  her  to  the  charge  of  his 
eunuch,  and  sent  her  away,  so  to  be  in  safety  kept  until  his  better 


494  ENGLISH  PROSE 


leisure.  But  those  his  troubles  overblown,  and  his  new  conquests 
well  assured,  he  then  began  forthwith  to  think  of  the  fair  Irene  : 
and  for  his  pleasure  sending  for  her,  took  in  her  perfections  such 
deHght  and  contentment,  as  that  in  short  time  he  had  changed 
state  with  her,  she  being  become  the  mistress  and  commander  of 
him  so  great  a  conqueror  ;  and  he  in  nothing  more  delighted,  than 
in  doing  her  the  greatest  honour  and  service  he  could.  All  the 
day  he  spent  with  her  in  discourse,  and  the  night  in  dalliance  : 
All  time  spent  in  her  company,  seemed  unto  him  short,  and  with- 
out her  nothing  pleased  :  his  fierce  nature  was  now  by  her  well 
tamed,  and  his  wonted  care  of  arms  quite  neglected  :  Mars  slept 
in  Venus'  lap,  and  now  the  soldiers  might  go  play.  Yea  the  very 
government  of  his  estate  and  empire  seemed  to  be  of  him,  in 
comparison  of  her,  little  or  not  at  all  regarded  ;  the  care  thereof 
being  by  him  carelessly  committed  to  others,  that  so  he  might 
himself  wholly  attend  upon  her,  in  whom  more  than  in  himself, 
the  people  said  he  delighted.  Such  is  the  power  of  disordered 
affections,  where  reason  ruleth  not  the  rein.  But  whilst  he  thus, 
forgetful  of  himself,  spendeth  in  pleasure  not  some  few  days  or 
months,  but  even  a  whole  year  or  two,  to  the  lightening  of  his 
credit,  and  the  great  discontentment  of  his  subjects  in  general :  the 
Janizaries  and  other  soldiers  of  the  court  (men  desirous  of  employ- 
ment, and  grieved  to  see  him  so  given  over  unto  his  affections, 
and  to  make  no  end  thereof)  began  at  first  in  secret  to  murmur 
thereat,  and  to  speak  hardly  of  him  ;  and  at  length  (after  their 
insolent  manner)  spared  not  openly  to  say.  That  it  were  well  done 
to  deprive  him  of  his  government  and  estate,  as  unworthy  thereof, 
and  to  set  up  one  of  his  sons  in  his  stead.  Which  speeches  were 
now  grown  so  rife,  and  the  discontentment  of  the  men  of  war  so 
great,  that  it  was  not  without  cause  by  some  of  the  great  Bassaes 
feared,  whereunto  this  their  so  great  insolency  would  grow.  But 
who  should  tell  the  tyrant  thereof,  whose  frown  was  in  itself 
death  1  or  who  durst  take  in  hand  to  cure  that  his  sick  mind  ? 
which  distraught  with  the  sweet  but  poisoned  potions  of  love, 
was  not  like  to  listen  to  any  good  counsel,  were  it  never  so  wisely 
given  :  but  as  a  riian  metamorphosed,  to  turn  his  fury  upon  him 
which  should  presume  so  wholesomely  (but  contrary  to  his  good 
liking)  to  advise  him.  Unhappy  man,  whose  great  estate  and 
fierce  nature  was  not  without  danger  to  be  meddled  or  tempered 
with,  no,  not  by  them  who  of  all  others  ought  in  so  great  a  peril 
to   have  been  thereof  most    careful ;  but  were   now  for  fear   all 


RICHARD    KNOLLES  495 

become  silent  and  dumb.  Now  amongst  other  great  men  in  the 
Court,  was  one  Mustapha  Bassa,  a  man  for  his  good  service  (for 
that  he  was  of  a  child  brought  up  with  him)  of  Mahomet  greatly 
favoured,  and  by  him  also  highly  promoted  ;  and  he  again  by 
him  as  his  sovereign  no  less  honoured  than  feared  :  who  no  less 
than  the  rest,  grieved  to  see  so  great  a  change  in  the  great  Sultan, 
of  whom  they  had  conceived  no  small  hope  of  greater  matters 
than  were  by  him  as  yet  performed  :  and  moved  also  with  the 
danger  threatened  unto  him  by  the  discontented  Janizaries  and 
men  of  war :  espying  him  at  convenient  leisure  to  be  spoken 
unto,  and  presuming  of  the  former  credit  he  had  with  him,  adven- 
tured thus  to  break  with  him,  and  to  give  him  warning  thereof. 

Having  thus  said,  he  fell  down  at  his  feet,  as  there  to  receive 
the  heavy  doom  of  his  so  free  speech,  if  it  should  be  otherwise 
than  well  taken  of  the  angry  Sultan  :  who  all  this  while  with 
great  attention  and  many  a  stern  look  had  hearkened  unto  all  that 
the  Bassa  had  said  :  for  well  he  knew  it  to  be  all  true  ;  and  that 
in  so  saying,  he  had  but  discharged  the  part  of  a  trusty  and 
faithful  servant,  careful  of  his  master's  honour.  But  yet  the 
beauty  of  the  Greek  was  still  so  fixed  in  his  heart,  and  the  plea- 
sure he  took  in  her  so  great,  as  that  to  think  of  the  leaving  of 
her  bred  in  him  many  a  troubled  thought.  He  was  at  war  with 
himself,  as  in  his  often  changed  countenance  well  appeared  ; 
reason  calling  upon  him,  for  his  honour  ;  and  his  amorous  affec- 
tions still  suggesting  unto  him  new  delights.  Thus  tossed  to  and 
fro  (as  a  ship  with  contrary  winds)  and  withal  considering  the 
danger  threatened  to  his  estate  if  he  should  longer  follow  those 
his  pleasures  so  much  displeasing  unto  his  men  of  war,  he  resolved 
upon  a  strange  point,  whereby  at  once  to  cut  off  all  those  his 
troubled  passions  ;  and  withal,  to  strike  a  terror  even  into  the 
stoutest  of  them  that  had  before  condemned  him,  as  unable  to 
govern  his  own  so  passionate  affections.  Whereupon,  with  coun- 
tenance well  declaring  his  inward  discontentment,  he  said  unto 
the  Bassa,  yet  prostrate  at  his  feet : 

"  Although  thou  hast  unreverently  spoken,  as  a  slave  presuming 
to  enter  into  the  greatest  secrets  of  thy  sovereign  (not  without 
offence  to  be  by  thee  once  thought  upon)  and  therefore  deservest 
well  to  die  ;  yet  for  that  thou  wast  of  a  child  brought  up  together 
with  me,  and  hast  ever  been  unto  me  faithful,  I  for  this  time 
pardon  thee  :  and  before  to-morrow  the  sun  go  down,  will  make  it 


496  ENGLISH  PROSE 

known  both  to  thee,  and  others  of  the  same  opinion  with  thee, 
whether  I  be  able  to  bridle  mine  affections  or  not.  Take  order 
in  the  meantime  that  all  the  Bassaes,  and  the  chief  commanders 
of  my  men  of  war  be  assembled  together  tomorrow,  there  to  know 
my  farther  pleasure  :   whereof  fail  you  not." 

So  the  Bassa  being  departed,  he  after  his  wonted  manner  went 
in  unto  the  Greek,  and  solacing  himself  all  that  day  and  the  night 
following  with  her,  made  more  of  her  than  ever  before  :  and  the 
more   to   please   her,   dined   with    her ;   commanding,    that   after 
dinner  she  should  be  attired  with  more  sumptuous  apparel  than 
ever  she  had  before  worn  ;  and  for  the  further  gracing  of  her,  to 
be  deckt  with  many  most  precious  jewels  of  inestimable  value. 
Whereunto  the  poor  soul  gladly  obeyed,  little  thinking  that  it  was 
her  funeral  apparel.      Now  in  the  mean  while,   Mustapha  (alto- 
gether ignorant  of  the  Sultan's  mind)  had,  as  he  was  commanded, 
caused  all  the  nobility,  and  commanders  of  the  men  of  war,  to  be 
assembled  into  the  great  hall :  every  man  much  marvelling,  what 
should  be  the  Emperor's  meaning  therein,  who  had  not  of  long 
so  publicly  shewed  himself      But  being  thus  together  assembled, 
and   every  man   according    as   their    minds   gave    them,  talking 
diversely  of  the  matter  :  behold,  the  Sultan  entered  into  the  palace 
leading  the  fair  Greek  by  the  hand  ;  who  beside  her  incomparable 
beauty  and  other  the  greatest  graces  of  nature,  adorned  also  with 
all  that  curiosity  could  devise,  seemed  not  now  to  the  beholders 
a  mortal  wight,  but  some  of  the  stately  goddesses,  whom  the  poets 
in  their  ecstasies  describe.      Thus  coming  together  into  the  midst 
of  the  hall,  and  due  reverence  unto  them  done  by  all  them  there 
present ;  he  stood  still  with  the  fair  lady  in  his  left  hand,  and  so 
furiously  looking  round  about  him,  said  unto  them  :  "  I  understand 
of  your  great  discontentment,  and  that  you  all  murmur  and  grudge, 
for  that   I,  overcome  with  mine  affection  towards  this  so  fair  a 
paragon,  cannot   withdraw   myself  from   her    presence.       But    I 
would  fain  know  which  of  you  there  is  so  temperate  that  if  he  had 
in  his  possession  a  thing  so  rare  and  precious,  so  lovely  and  so 
fair,  would  not  be  thrice  advised  before  he  would  forego  the  same  ? 
Say  what  you  think  :  in  the  word  of  a   Prince    1   give  you  free 
liberty  so  to  do."     But  they  all,  rapt  with  an  incredible  admiration 
to  see  so  fair  a  thing,  the  like  whereof  they  had  never  before 
beheld,   said   all  with   one   consent.  That    he   had    with    greater 
reason  so  passed  the  time  with  her,  than  any  man  had  to  find 
fault    therewith.      Whereunto    the    barbarous    Prince   answered : 


KNOLLES  497 

"  Well,  but  now  I  will  make  you  to  understand  how  far  you  have 
been  deceived  in  me,  and  that  there  is  no  earthly  thing  that  can 
so  much  blind  my  senses,  or  bereave  me  of  reason,  as  not  to  see 
and  understand  what  beseemeth  my  high  place  and  calling  ;  yea 
I  would  you  should  all  know,  that  the  honour  and  conquests  of 
the  Othoman  kings  my  noble  progenitors,  is  so  fixed  in  my  breast, 
with  such  a  desire  in  myself  to  exceed  the  same,  as  that  nothing 
but  death  is  able  to  put  it  out  of  my  remembrance."  And  having 
so  said,  presently  with  one  of  his  hands  catching  the  fair  Greek 
by  the  hair  of  the  head,  and  drawing  his  falchion  with  the  other, 
at  one  blow  struck  off  her  head,  to  the  great  terror  of  them  all. 
And  having  so  done,  said  unto  them  :  "  Now  by  this  judge 
whether  your  emperor  is  able  to  bridle  his  affections  or  not." 

(From  the  Same.) 


VOL.  I 


WILLIAM    CAMDEN 

[William  Camden,  son  of  Samson  Camden,  a  paper-stainer,  was  born  in 
London,  2n(l  May  1551.  He  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital  and  at  St.  Paul's 
School ;  and  in  1566  proceeded  to  Magdalen  College,  Oxford.  He  successively 
removed  to  Broadgate  Hall  (Pembroke  College)  and  Christ  Church,  was  refused 
a  bachelor's  degree  when  he  left  the  university  in  1570,  but  took  it  on  his 
return  to  Oxford  in  1573.  In  1575  he  became  second  master  of  Westminster 
School.  Soon  after  this  Camden  began  to  collect  materials  for  a  great  work 
on  the  antiquities  of  England,  which  resulted,  in  1586,  in  the  pubhcation  of 
his  Britannia.  He  became  head-master  of  Westminster  in  March  1593,  an 
office  which  he  resigned  in  1597  on  being  made  Clarenceux  King-at-Arms. 
In  1603  he  published  at  Frankfort  a  collection  of  the  works  of  the  ancient 
English  historians.  In  1607  a  fall  from  his  horse  invalided  him  for  many 
months,  and  in  1609  his  health  was  further  impaired  by  a  dangerous  indis- 
position. In  spite  of  these  and  successive  severe  illnesses,  Camden  con- 
tinued his  indefatigable  labours.  In  1622  he  founded  the  Camden  professor- 
ship of  Ancient  History  at  Oxford.  He  died  in  his  house  at  Chiselhurst,  in 
Kent,  on  9th  November  1623,  and  was  buried  with  full  heraldic  honours  in 
Westminster  Abbey.] 

It  would  seem  in  the  highest  degree  paradoxical  to  exclude  from 
a  historical  collection  of  English  prose-writers,  the  first  great 
antiquary  and  historian  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  that 

Camden,  the  nourice  of  antiquity 

And  lantern  unto  late  succeeding  age, 
To  see  the  light  of  simple  verity 

Buried  in  ruins,  through  the  great  outrage 

Of  her  own  people  led  with  warlike  rage. 
Camden  !   though  Time  all  monuments  obscure. 
Yet  thy  just  labours  ever  shall  endure. 

So  Spenser  wrote  in  1591,  and  the  consensus  of  critical  opinion 
speaks  not  otherwise  after  three  centuries.  Yet  although  Camden 
is  one  of  the  glories  of  Oxford,  of  Westminster,  and  of  all  England, 
it  does  not  appear  that  he  can  very  safely  be  claimed  as  one  of 
the  glories  of  English  prose.  In' a  work  like  the  present,  which 
deals  rather  with  the  development  of  English  prose  style  than  with 


500  ENGLISH  PROSE 


anything  else,  it  may  indeed  be  doubtful  whether  an  Englishman 
who  wrote  splendidly,  but  wrote  almost  exclusively  in  Latin,  has 
any  claim  to  appear  at  all.  If  we  give  him  a  small  niche  here,  it 
is  mainly  complimentary,  and  to  avoid  the  apparent  solecism  of 
entirely  omitting  him. 

During  the  first  fifty  years  of  his  life  there  is  no  evidence  to 
show  that  Camden  wrote  at  all  in  English.  His  Britannia  of 
1586,  his  Annales  finished  in  i  589,  his  Reges  sepulti  oi  1600,  his 
Diary,  long  remained  in  their  original  form,  in  the  Latin  language, 
and  were  at  length  translated  into  English  by  various  hands,  but 
never  by  the  author  himself  By  far  the  more  substantial  part  of 
Camden's  writings,  therefore,  cannot  be  taken  into  consideration 
in  a  work  on  English  prose.  The  Britannia,  for  example,  as  we 
read  it,  illustrates  the  style  of  Philemon  Holland  or  of  Edmund 
Gibson,  as  the  case  may  be,  but  not  that  of  William  Camden. 
Among  his  correspondence,  too,  so  faithfully  edited  by  Thomas 
Smith,  we  find  no  English  letter  from  Camden  earlier  than  161 8. 
He  who  would  exchange  opinions  with  Abrahamus  Ortelius  and 
Gerardus  Mercator,  he  who  would  offer  help  to  Paulus  Merula  and 
win  the  enthusiastic  commendation  of  Joseph  Scaliger,  must  not 
indite  in  the  barbarous  lingo  of  modern  England.  Elizabeth  died, 
and  Camden  was  still  known  to  the  world  exclusively  as  a  Latin 
author. 

But  in  1605  he  entered  in  his  Memorabilia  the  words  "  Aeixpava 
prodierunt  primum."  These  "  chips  "  from  his  workshop,  these 
Remains  concerning  Britain,  issued,  half  anonymously,  as  if  their 
author  were  ashamed  of  them,  were  published  in  English,  and  the 
English  was  probably,  though  by  no  means  certainly,  Camden's 
own.  Nearly  one  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the  celebrated 
antiquary,  there  was  published  by  the  industrious  Thomas  Heame, 
a  collection  of  short  technical  essays,  contributed  by  a  number  of 
learned  persons  to  the  meetings  of  the  Elizabethan  Society  of 
Antiquaries,  held  between  1 600  and  1 604.  Three  of  these  essays 
were  by  Camden,  and  a  later  editor,Mn  177 1,  unearthed  seven 
more.  These  were  probably  written  in  English,  and  these  ten 
dry  posthumous  essays,  with  the  volume  of  Remains  and  a  few 
letters,  form  the  slender  basis  of  whatever  reputation  Camden  may 
possess  as  a  writer  of  English  prose. 

Very  little  can  be  conjectured  from  the  fragments  of  Camden  as 
tc  the  manner  in  which  he  would  have  used  the  English  language 
if  he  had  chosen  to  make  it  the  habitual  instrument  for  his  thought 


WILLIAM  CAMDEN  501 

The  passages  which  we  quote  will  be  seen  to  be  lucid  and  not 
inelegant,  and  they  possess  a  simplicity  of  diction  not  to  be 
passed  by  without  praise.  In  the  age  of  Euphuism  and  fashionable 
extravagance,  Camden  sets  down  his  notes,  arranges  his  quotations, 
and  prosecutes  his  curious  inquiries  without  any  wish  to  astonish 
us  by  his  manner  of  writing.  He  speaks,  in  the  Remains,  of  many 
odd  and  conceited  things, — of  anagrams  and  coats  of  arms,  of  epi- 
taphs and  proverbs,  of  the  rebus  and  the  motto,  of  artillery  and  of 
apparel, — but  he  rarely  spares  himself  a  sentence  for  picturesque 
comment  or  for  play  of  fancy.  The  collection  of  facts  is  what 
amuses  him  ;  the  volume  is  his  common-place  book,  and  he  will 
wait  to  be  magnificent  until  he  writes  in  Latin.  The  essay  on 
praise  of  Britain,  which  reads  like  a  first  draft  of  an  opening 
chapter  to  the  Britannia,  is  an  exception,  and  here  for  a  moment 
we  may  listen  to  a  writer  of  stately  prose  who,  had  he  chosen  to 
do  so,  might  easily  have  stood  with  Hooker  and  with  Bacon. 

Edmund  Gosse. 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  THE   ISLE  OF  BRITAIN 

Whereas  I  have  purposed  in  all  this  treatise  to  confine  myself 
within  the  bounds  of  this  Isle  of  Britain,  it  cannot  be  impertinent, 
at  the  very  entrance,  to  say  somewhat  of  Britain,  which  is  the 
only  subject  of  all  that  is  to  be  said,  and  well  known  to  be  the 
most  flourishing  and  excellent,  most  renewed  and  famous  Isle  of 
the  whole  world.  So  rich  in  commodities,  so  beautiful  in  situation, 
so  resplendent  in  all  glory,  that  if  the  most  Omnipotent  had 
fashioned  the  world  round  like  a  ring,  as  he  did  like  a  globe,  it 
might  have  been  most  worthily  the  only  gem  therein. 

For  the  air  is  most  temperate  and  wholesome,  sited  in  the  mid- 
dest  of  the  temperate  zone,  subject  to  no  storms  and  tempests 
as  the  more  Southern  and  Northern  are  ;  but  stored  with  infinite 
delicate  fowl.  For  water,  it  is  walled  and  guarded  with  the  Ocean, 
most  commodious  for  traffic  to  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  watered 
with  pleasant  fish-ful  and  navigable  rivers,  which  yield  safe  havens 
and  roads,  and  furnished  with  shipping  and  sailors,  that  it  may 
rightly  be  termed  the  Lady  of  the  Sea.  That  I  may  say  nothing 
of  healthful  baths,  and  of  meres  stored  both  with  fish  and  fowl, 
the  earth  fertile  of  all  kind  of  grain,  manured  with  good  husbandry, 
rich  in  mineral  of  coals,  tin,  lead,  copper,  not  without  gold  and 
silver,  abundant  in  pasture,  replenished  with  cattle  both  tame  and 
wild  (for  it  hath  more  parks  than  all  Europe  besides)  plentifully 
wooded,  provided  with  all  complete  provisions  of  war,  beautified 
with  many  populous  cities,  fair  boroughs,  good  towns,  and  well- 
built  villages,  strong  munitions,  magnificent  palaces  of  the  Prince, 
stately  houses  of  the  nobility,  frequent  hospitals,  beautiful  churches, 
fair  colleges,  as  well  in  other  places,  as  in  the  two  Universities, 
which  are  comparable  to  all  the  rest  in  Christendom,  not  only  in 
antiquity,  but  also  in  learning,  buildings,  and  endowments.  As 
for  government  ecclesiastical  and  civil,  which  is  the  very  soul 
of  a  kingdom,  I  need  to  say  nothing,  when  as  I  write  to  home- 
born,  and  not  to  strangers. 

(From  Remains  concerning  Britain.) 

503 


WILLIAM  CAMDEN  503 


OF   ITS   INHABITANTS 

This  warlike,  victorious,  stiff,  stout,  and  vigorous  nation,  after  it 
had  as  it  were  taken  root  here  about  one  hundred  and  sixty  years, 
and  spread  his  branches  far  and  wide,  being  mellowed  and  molli- 
fied by  the  mildness  of  the  soil  and  sweet  air,  was  prepared  in 
fulness  of  time  for  the  first  spiritual  blessing  of  God,  I  mean  our 
regeneration  in  Christ,  and  our  ingrafting  into  His  mystical  body 
by  holy  baptism.  Which  Beda,  our  ecclesiastical  historian, 
recounteth  in  this  manner,  and  I  hope  you  will  give  it  the  reading. 
Gregory  the  great  bishop  of  Rome,  on  a  time  saw  beautiful  boys 
to  be  sold  in  the  market  at  Rome,  and  demanded  from  whence 
they  were  ;  answer  was  made  him,  out  of  the  Isle  of  Britain. 
Then  asked  he  again,  whether  they  were  Christians  or  no  ?  they 
said  no.  "Alas  for  pity,"  said  Gregory,  "that  the  foul  fiend 
should  be  lord  of  such  fair  folks,  and  that  they  which  carry  such 
grace  in  their  countenances,  should  be  void  of  grace  in  their 
hearts."  Then  he  would  know  of  them  by  what  name  their  nation 
was  called,  and  they  told  him,  Angleshmen.  "And  justly  be  they 
so  called  (quoth  he)  for  they  have  angelic  faces,  and  seem  meet 
to  be  made  coheirs  with  the  angels  in  Heaven." 

(From  the  Same.) 


KING   CANUTE 

King  Canutus,  commonly  called  Knute,  walking  on  the  sea-sands 
near  to  Southampton,  was  extolled  by  some  of  his  flattering 
followers,  and  told  that  he  was  a  King  of  Kings,  the  mightiest 
that  reigned  far  or  near  ;  that  both  sea  and  land  were  at  his 
command.  But  this  speech  did  put  the  godly  king  in  mind  of 
the  infinite  power  of  God,  by  whom  kings  have  and  enjoy  their 
power,  and  thereupon  he  made  this  demonstration  to  refell  their 
flattery.  He  took  off"  his  cloak,  and  wrapping  it  round  together, 
sate  down  upon  it  near  to  the  sea,  that  then  began  to  flow,  saying 
"  Sea,  I  command  thee  that  thou  touch  not  my  feet  !  "  But  he 
had  not  so  soon  spoken  the  word  but  the  surging  wave  dashed 
him.  He  then,  rising  up  and  going  back,  said  :  "  Ye  see  now, 
my  Lords,  what  good  cause  you  have  to  call  me  a  king,  that  am 


S04  ENGLISH  PROSE 


not  able  by  my  commandment  to  stay  one  wave.  No  mortal 
man,  doubtless,  is  worthy  of  such  an  high  name,  no  man  hath 
such  command,  but  one  King  which  ruleth  all.  Let  us  honour 
Him,  let  us  call  Him  King  of  Kings  and  Lord  of  all  Nations.  Let 
us  not  only  confess,  but  also  profess  Him  to  be  Ruler  of  the 
Heavens,  Sea  and  Land." 

(From  the  Same.) 


THE  EARL  MARSHAL  OF  ENGLAND 

There  is  a  treatise  carried  about  the  office  of  the  earl  marshal 
in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the  second,  and  another  of  the  time 
of  Thomas  of  Brotherton,  where  I  find  confusedly  what  belonged 
to  them  in  court  and  camp  ;  as  in  court,  that  at  the  coronation 
the  marshal  should  have  the  King's  horse  and  harness,  and  the 
Queen's  palfrey  :  that  he  should  hold  the  crown  at  the  coronation  ; 
that  he  should  have  upon  high  feasts,  as  the  high  usher,  the  table 
clothes  and  cloth  of  estate  for  that  day  :  that  he  keep  the  hall  in 
quiet ;  that  he  should  bring  offenders  within  the  verge  before  the 
high  steward  ;  that  he  should  assign  lodgings,  and  when  the  King 
passed  the  seas,  each  man  to  his  ship  :  that  he  shall  have  for  his 
livery  three  winter  robes  at  Christmas,  and  three  summer  robes 
at  Whitsuntide :  that  he  should  have  a  deputy  in  the  King's 
Bench  :  that  he  should  keep  vagabonds  from  the  court :  in  camp 
that  he  should  lead  the  fore-ward  :  that  the  constable  with  him 
should  hold  courts  in  the  camp :  that  he  should  have  certain 
special  forfeitures,  as  armour  and  weapons  of  prisoners,  to  appoint 
lodgings,  to  be  abroad  till  all  be  lodged,  to  have  fees  of  armourers 
and  victuallers  of  the  camp,  to  have  all  the  armour,  and  whole 
cloth  of  towns  taken  by  composition,  to  have  ransom  of  prisoners 
escaped,  if  they  be  taken  again,  with  many  such  like,  too  long 
here  to  be  specified. 

(From  The  Antiquity  and  Office  of  the  Earl  Marshall  of 
England.^ 


JAMES    MELVILLE 


[The  Autobiography  of  James  Melville  (born  1556,  died  1614),  minister 
of  Kilrenny  in  Fife,  contains  a  great  deal  of  the  history  of  Scotland 
and  the  Scottish  Church,  told  with  great  liveliness,  many  illustrations 
of  the  progress  of  learning  in  the  time  of  the  religious  revolution, 
and  a  singularly  interesting  record  of  the  author's  life  and  character. 
James  Melville  was  the  nephew  of  Andrew  Melville  the  scholar,  and  his 
fortunes  were  closely  involved  throughout  with  those  of  his  uncle.  He 
was  educated  at  St.  Leonard's  College  in  the  University  of  St.  Andrews  : 
in  1574  he  went  with  his  uncle  to  Glasgow,  and  lectured  in  Greek, 
Latin,  Logic,  Rhetoric,  Mathematics,  and  Moral  Philosophy  as  Regent  there  : 
in  1580,  when  Andrew  Melville  became  Principal  of  St.  Andrews  University, 
James  Melville  returned  also,  and  professed  Hebrew  and  Oriental  languages. 
In  1586  he  was  made  minister  of  Anstruther-'Wester  and  three  neighbouring 
parishes,  Pittenweem,  Abercrombie,  and  Kilrenny  ;  he  exerted  himself  to  be 
relieved  of  his  pluralities,  and  in  the  end  retained  the  charge  of  the  parish  of 
Kilrenny  alone.  He  took  considerable  part  in  the  debate  concerning  Church 
government  which  made  up  the  sum  of  Scottish  politics  at  that  time,  speaking 
no  less  boldly  than  Andrew  Melville,  but  with  a  gentler  manner.  In  1606  he 
was,  along  with  his  uncle,  one  of  the  eight  ministers  summoned  to  a  Confer- 
ence with  the  King  at  Hampton  Court,  in  respect  of  the  crisis  brought  about 
by  the  trial  for  high  treason  of  the  six  ministers  who  had  denied  the  authority 
of  the  Council  to  interfere  with  the  General  Assembly.  The  Melvilles  and 
their  companions  were  detained  in  England ;  James  Melville  was  sent  first  to 
Newcastle,  then  to  Berwick-on-Tweed,  where  he  died  on  the  19th  of  January 
1614.  The  history  of  his  life  comes  down  to  the  year  1601  ;  it  is  supplemented 
by  his    True  Narration  of  the  Declining  Age  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  from 

MDXCVI.   to  MDCX.  ] 

James  Melville's  character,  ingenuous  and  absolutely  free  from 
anything  morose,  gives  at  first  a  misleading  impression  to  the 
reader,  as  apparently  it  sometimes  did  to  his  contemporaries,  who 
mistook  his  quietness  for  softness,  and  undervalued  his  fortitude. 
He  has  the  simplicity  and  the  appreciation  of  small  things  v^'hich 
are  among  the  qualifications  of  a  writer  of  memoirs  ;  his  nature 
was  not  inclined  to  despise  or  renounce  the  lively  and  pleasant 
world  ;  his  education  gave  him  an  entrance  to  "  the  humanities," 

505 


5o6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


and  included  along  with  them  a  variety  of  pastimes,  "  the  bow 
for  archerie,  the  glub  for  goff,  the  batons  for  fencing,  also  to  rin, 
to  loope,  to  swoom,  to  warsell " ;  it  was  made  easy  for  him  to  be 
an  accomplished  gentleman.  That  he  was  something  more  than 
a  student,  or  a  collector  of  reminiscences ;  that  his  life  was  more 
serious  than  that  of  the  humorous  commentator  on  the  passing 
hour,  is  what  one  is  compelled  to  recognise  in  reading  his  diary  ; 
and  this  brings  with  it  an  estimate  of  him  which  gives  him  a 
memorable  place  among  the  personages  of  that  time.  He  was 
not  a  great  writer,  nor  a  great  scholar,  nor  a  statesman  ;  but  he 
is  representative  of  the  highest  ideals  of  the  time,  the  energy  in 
learning  and  teaching,  the  devotion  to  high  aims,  the  interest  in 
all  things  human,  the  self-respect  and  self-sacrifice  :  the  greater 
men  of  that  age  are  in  many  ways  less  representative. 

James  Melville  was  tested  on  one  occasion — in  the  encounter 
with  Juan  de  Medina  and  the  Spanish  captains  at  Anstruther  in 
1588 — when  any  weakness  in  his  temper  or  breeding  would  have 
been  brought  out  at  once  by  contact  with  the  Spanish  dignity. 
This  meeting  shows  the  Scottish  minister  hardly  surpassed  in 
grace  of  bearing  by  the  Spanish  general :  the  record  of  it  in  a 
few  pages  contains  what  is  missed  in  the  other  contemporary 
documents  about  the  Armada,  perfect  justice  to  both  sides,  and 
what  is  rare  in  any  contemporary  history,  an  adequate  rendering 
of  the  best  qualities  of  both  sides.  It  is  a  passage  that  may  be 
dwelt  on  ;  it  clears  away  the  turbulent  accidents  of  history,  and 
leaves  the  characters  by  themselves,  understanding  one  another 
as  honourable  men,  in  spite  even  of  their  religions,  and  with 
no  unworthy  condescension  on  either  side. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  adventure  in  the  history  of  James 
Melville's  life,  and  the  reader  is  carried  into  a  number  of  exciting 
and  interesting  scenes,  some  of  them  tragic — like  that  in  which 
the  prophecy  of  John  Knox  is  fulfilled,  of  the  taking  of  Edin- 
burgh Castle — some  of  them  enlivened  with  comic  humours. 
Andrew  Melville  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  personages  in 
the  memoirs  from  his  early  days  as  a  wandering  Master  of  Arts 
in  France,  to  his  later  irreverent  resistance  of  the  King  and 
the  Scottish  and  English  Bishops.  James  Melville's  own  life, 
though  less  varied  than  his  uncle's,  had  many  trials  in  it,  with 
which  he  dealt  stoutly  enough,  for  all  the  gentleness  and  quietness 
of  his  manner. 

His  style  has  many  excellences.      In  narrative,  as  is  shown  in 


JAMES  MEL  VILLE  507 


the  year  1588,  he  is  admirably  clear  and  strong,  and  his  vocabu- 
lary is  unfailing.  Scottish  literature  had  always  been  rich  in  words, 
and  peculiarly  attracted  by  the  pleasure  of  using  them  ;  adding 
the  "  aureate  terms,"  derived  from  the  learned  languages,  to  its 
large  vernacular  stores.  James  Melville  has  no  dislike  to 
rhetorical  figures,  but  the  best  part  of  his  rhetoric  is  the  liberality 
and  eloquence  of  his  phrasing.  He  describes  the  trail  of  a  meteor, 
for  instance  ;  "  most  lyk  ane  serpent  in  many  faiclds  a7id  linkit 
wimples.'''  His  descriptive  style  is  different  from  that  used  in  his 
controversial  papers  and  sermons.  In  these  he  uses  all  the 
licenses  of  florid  rhetoric,  and  squanders  his  classical  illustrations 
with  great  power  of  invective.  In  the  sermon  preached  by  him 
before  the  Assembly  of  1590  he  introduces  "a  poisonable  and 
vennemus  Psyilus,  a  warlow,  I  warrand  yow,  sa  empoisoned  be 
the  vennome  of  that  auld  serpent,  and  sa  altered  in  his  substance 
and  naturall,  that  the  deadlie  poisone  of  the  vipere  is  his  familiar 
fuid  and  nuriture,  to  wit,  his  falshode,  malice,  and  knaverie,  wha 
hes  bein  lurking  a  lang  time  hatching  a  cocatrice  eagg,  and  sa 
fynlie  instructed  to  handle  the  whissall  of  that  auld  inchantar,  that 
na  Psyllus,  Circe,  Medea,  or  Pharmaceutrie,  could  ever  haiff  done 
betere.  This  is  Patrick  Adamsone,  fals  Bishope  of  St.  Androis," 
etc.  Melville's  official  and  controversial  style  has  its  points  of 
analogy  with  the  style  of  his  ordinary  narrative,  and  at  any  rate 
it  is  not  tame  ;  but  the  narrative  is  better. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


SHIPWRECKED   CAPTAINS  OF  THE  ARMADA i 

MDLXXXVIII 

That  winter  the  King  was  occupied  in  commenting  of  the 
Apocalypse,  and  in  setting  out  of  sermons  thereupon  against  the 
Papists  and  Spaniards.  And  yet,  by  a  piece  of  great  oversight, 
the  Papists  practised  never  mair  busily  in  this  land,  and  made 
greater  preparation  for  receiving  of  the  Spaniards,  nor  that  year. 
For  a  long  time  the  news  of  a  Spanish  navy  and  army  had 
been  blasit  abroad;  and  about  the  Lammas  tide  of  the  1588, 
this  Island  had  found  a  fearful  effect  thereof,  to  the  utter  sub- 
version both  of  Kirk  and  Policy,  if  God  had  not  wonderfully 
watched  over  the  same,  and  mightily  foughten  and  defeat  that 
army  by  his  soldiers,  the  elements,  quhilk  he  made  all  four  maist 
fiercely  to  afflict  them  till  almost  utter  consumption.  Terrible 
was  the  fear,  piercing  were  the  preachings,  earnest,  zealous,  and 
fervent  were  the  prayers,  sounding  were  the  sighs  and  sobs,  and 
abounding  were  the  tears  at  that  Fast  and  General  Assembly 
keipit  at  Edinburgh,  when  the  news  was  credibly  tauld,  some- 
times of  their  landing  at  Dunbar,  sometimes  at  St.  Andrews,  and 
in  Tay,  and  now  and  then  at  Aberdeen  and  Cromarty  Firth. 
And  in  very  deed,  as  we  knew  certainly  soon  after,  the  Lord  of 
Armies,  who  rides  upon  the  wings  of  the  winds,  the  Keeper  of 
his  awin   Israel,  was  in  the  mean  time  convoying  that  monstrous 

^  Juan  Gomez  de  Medina  sailed  in  the  Gran  Grifon,  "  Capitana  de  las 
ureas. "  He  had  23  ' '  ureas"  or  hulks  when  the  Armada  left  Lisbon,  and  19  after 
the  first  storm,  when  the  fleet  was  reviewed  at  Corunna,  July  13th.  Patricio 
Antolinez  and  Esteban  de  Legorreta,  captains  of  the  tercio  of  Nicolas  de  Isla, 
sailed  along  with  him  in  the  "  Captain  of  the  Hulks."  There  is  an  anonymous 
narrative  M.S.,  Madrid,  describing  the  voyage  of  the  Ai'mada,  and  the  loss  of 
the  narrator's  ship,  a  large  "urea,"  on  the  "Faril,"  September  27th.  Of 
300  men  disembarked  there,  50  had  died  by  November  14th.  At  this  date 
the  writer  was  waiting  for  the  return  of  messengers  sent  to  another  island 
(Orkney?)  to  procure  help.  —  Duro,  La  Armada  Invencible,  i.  279. 
508 


JAMES  MEL  VII.LE  509 

navy  about  our  coasts,  and  directing  their  hulks  and  galiates  to 
the  islands,  rocks,  and  sands,  whereupon  he  had  destined  their 
wreck  and  destruction.  For  within  twa  or  three  month  thereafter, 
early  in  the  morning,  by  break  of  day,  ane  of  our  bailyies  cam 
to  my  bedside,  saying  (but  not  with  fear),  "  I  have  to  tell  you 
news.  Sir.  There  is  arrived  within  our  harbour  this  morning  a 
ship  full  of  Spaniards,  but  not  to  give  mercy  but  to  ask  ! "  And 
shows  me  that  the  Commanders  had  landit,  and  he  had  commandit 
them  to  their  ship  again  till  the  Magistrates  of  the  town  had 
advised,  and  the  Spaniards  had  humbly  obeyit  :  therefor  desired 
me  to  rise  and  hear  their  petition  with  them.  Up  I  got  with 
diligence,  and  assembling  the  honest  men  of  the  town,  came  to 
the  Tolbuthe  ;  and  after  consultation  taken  to  hear  them  ,and 
what  answer  to  make,  there  presents  us  a  very  reverend  man  of 
big  stature,  and  grave  and  stout  countenance,  grey-haired,  and 
very  humble  like,  wha,  after  mickle  and  very  low  courtesy,  bowing 
down  with  his  face  near  the  ground,  and  touching  my  shoe  with 
his  hand,  began  his  harangue  in  the  Spanish  tongue,  whereof  I 
understood  the  substance  ;  and  being  about  to  answer  in  Latin, 
he,  having  only  a  young  man  with  him  to  be  his  interpreter,  began 
and  tauld  over  again  to  us  in  good  English.  The  sum  was,  that 
King  Philip,  his  master,  had  rigged  out  a  navy  and  army  to  land 
in  England,  for  just  causes  to  be  avengit  of  many  intolerable 
wrongs  quhilk  he  had  receivit  of  that  nation  ;  but  God  for  their 
sins  had  been  against  them,  and  by  storm  of  weather  had  driven 
the  navy  by  the  coast  of  England,  and  him  with  a  certain  of 
Captains,  being  the  General  of  twenty  hulks,  upon  an  isle  of 
Scotland,  called  the  Fair  Isle,  where  they  made  shipwreck,  and 
where  sae  many  as  had  escapit  the  merciless  seas  and  rocks,  had 
mair  nor  sax  or  seven  weeks  suffered  great  hunger  and  cauld,  till 
conducing  that  bark  out  of  Orkney,  they  were  come  hither  as  to 
their  special  friends  and  confederates  to  kiss  the  King's  Majestie's 
hands  of  Scotland  (and  therewith  bekkit  even  to  the  earth),  and 
to  find  relief  and  comfort  thereby  to  him  self,  these  gentlemen 
Captains,  and  the  poor  soldiers,  whose  condition  was  for  the 
present  most  miserable  and  pitifull. 

I  answered  this  mickle,  in  sum  :  That  howbeit  neither  our 
friendship,  quhilk  could  not  be  great,  seeing  their  King  and  they 
were  friends  to  the  greatest  enemy  of  Christ,  the  Pope  of  Rome, 
and  our  King  and  we  defied  him,  nor  yet  their  cause  against  our 
neighbours   and   special    friends  of  England    could   procure   any 


5IO  ENGLISH  PROSE 

benefit  at  our  hands  for  their  relief  and  comfort ;  nevertheless, 
they  should  know  by  experience  that  we  were  men,  and  sa  moved 
by  human  compassion,  and  Christians  of  better  religion  nor  they, 
quhilk  should  kythe,  in  the  fruits  and  effect,  plain  contrary  to 
theirs.  For  whereas  our  people  resorting  among  them  in  peace- 
able and  lawful  affairs  of  merchandise,  were  violently  taken  and 
cast  in  prison,  their  guids  and  gear  confiscat,  and  their  bodies 
committed  to  the  cruel  flaming  fire  for  the  cause  of  Religion, 
they  should  find  na  things  among  us  but  Christian  pity  and  works 
of  mercy  and  alms,  leaving  to  God  to  work  in  their  hearts  con- 
cerning religion,  as  it  pleased  Him.  This  being  truly  reported 
again  to  him  by  his  trtmshman,  with  great  reverence  he  gave 
thanks,  and  said  he  could  not  make  answer  for  their  Kirk  and 
the  laws  and  order  thereof,  only  for  himself,  that  there  were 
divers  Scotsmen  who  knew  him,  and  to  whom  he  had  shown 
courtesy  and  favour  at  Cales,i  and  as  he  supposit,  some  of  this 
same  town  of  Anstruther.  Sa  showed  him  that  the  Bailies 
granted  him  licence  with  the  Captains  to  go  to  their  lodging  for 
their  refreshment,  but  to  none  of  their  men  to  land,  till  the  over- 
lord of  the  town  were  advertised,  and  understand  the  King's 
Majestie's  mind  anent  them.  Thus  with-  great  courtesy  he  de- 
parted. That  night,  the  Laird  being  advertised,  came,  and  on 
the  morn,  accompanied  with  a  guid  number  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  country  round  about,  gave  the  said  General  and  the  Captains 
presence,  and  after  the  same  speeches,  in  effect,  as  before,  re- 
ceivit  them  in  his  house,  and  entertained  them  humanely,  and 
sufferit  the  soldiers  to  come-a-land,  and  lie  all  together,  to  the 
number  of  thirteen  score,  for  the  maist  part  young  beardless  men, 
silly,  trauchled,  and  hungered,  to  the  quhilk  a  day  or  twa,  kail, 
pottage,  and  fish  was  given  ;  for  my  advice  was  conform  to  the 
Prophet  Elizeus  his  to  the  King  of  Israel,  in  Samaria,  "  Give 
them  bread  and  water,"  etc.  The  names  of  the  commanders 
were  Jan  Gomes  de  Medina,  General  of  twenty  hulks  ;  Capitan 
Patricio,  Capitan  de  Legoretto,  Capitan  de  Luffera,  Capitan 
Mauritio,  and  Seingour  Serrano. 

But  verily  all  the  while  my  heart  melted  within  me  for  desire 
of  thankfulness  to  God,  when  I  rememberit  the  pridefull  and 
cruel  natural  of  they  people,  and  how  they  would  have  used  us  in 
case  they  had  landit  with  their  forces  among  us  ;  and  saw  the 
wonderfull   work  of  God's  mercy  and  justice  in  making  us  see 

^  Cadiz. 


JAMES  MEL  VILLE  5 1 1 

them,  the  chief  commanders  of  them  to  make  sic  dewgard  and 
courtesy  to  poor  seamen,  and  their  soldiers  so  abjectly  to  beg 
alms  at  our  doors  and  in  our  streets. 

In  the  meantime,  they  knew  naught  of  the  wreck  of  the  rest, 
but  supposed  that  the  rest  of  the  army  was  safely  returned,  till  a 
day  I  got  in  St.  Androis  in  print  the  wreck  of  the  galliates  in 
particular,  with  the  names  of  the  .principal  men,  and  how  they 
were  used  in  Ireland  and  our  Highlands,  in  Wales,  and  other 
parts  of  England  ;  the  quhilk  when  I  recorded  to  Jan  Gomes,  by 
particular  and  special  names.  O  then  he  cried  out  for  grief,  bursted 
and  grat.  This  Jan  Gomes  showed  great  kindness  to  a  ship  of 
our  town,  quhilk  he  found  arrested  at  Gales  at  his  home-coming, 
rode  to  court  for  her,  and  made  great  rus  of  Scotland  to  his 
King,  took  the  honest  men  to  his  house,  and  inquirit  for  the 
Laird  of  Anstruther,  for  the  Minister,  and  his  host,  and  sent 
home  many  commendations.  But  we  thanked  God  with  our 
hearts,  that  we  had  seen  them  among  us  in  that  form. 


RICHARD    HAKLUYT 


[Richard  Hakluyt  {c.  1553 — 1616)  was  educiiiedat  Westminster  as  a  Queen's 
scholar  ;  he  was  admitted  a  student  of  Christ  Church  in  1570.  Before  he  had 
left  school  he  was  drawn  to  geography.  He  describes  in  one  of  his  dedications 
the  visit  to  his  cousin  in  his  chambers  in  the  Temple,  which  gave  him  his  first 
decided  bent,  and  led  to  the  resolve  to  "  prosecute  that  knowledge  and  kind  of 
literature."  His  first  publication  was  a  collection  oi  Divers  voyages  touching  the 
discouerie  of  America  and  the  Hands  adiacent  vnto  the  same  (1582),  dedicated 
to  "Master  Philip  Sydney,  Esquire."  Y{\s  Discourse  concerning  IVesterne 
discoueries  (1584)  was  left  unprinted.  In  1586  he  edited  Laudonniere's 
voyages  to  Florida,  and  published  in  the  following  year  his  own  translation  of 
the  same,  dedicating  both  books  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  He  also  dedicated 
to  Raleigh  in  1587  his  revised  edition  of  the  De  Orbe  Nozo  of  Peter  Martyr 
Anghiera.  In  1589  he  brought  out  in  one  volume  the  first  edition  of  his  great 
work,  The  principall  navigations,  voiages,  and  discoueries  of  the  E?tglish 
nation,  dedicated  to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham.  The  three  volumes  of  the 
second  and  greatly  enlarged  edition  were  jjublished  in  1598,  1599,  and  1600, 
and  dedicated,  the  first  to  the  Lord  Admiral,  the  other  two  to  Sir  Robert 
Cecil.  To  the  end  of  his  life  Hakluyt  encouraged  and  aided  the  publication 
of  travels.  The  manuscripts  left  by  him  were  edited  by  Purchas  in  his 
Pilgrimes.  ] 

Literary  fame  was  the  last  in  importance  of  Hakluyt's  motives. 
There  is  not  very  much  in  all  his  volumes  of  his  own  original 
writing.  What  he  desired  most  was  increase  of  knowledge,  and 
of  the  dominion  and  wealth  of  England.  The  "  special  com- 
modities "  and  "  particular  wants "  of  different  countries  formed 
part  of  the  lesson  in  geography  given  by  Mr.  Richard  Hakluyt  of 
the  Middle  Temple  to  his  young  cousin  and  namesake,  the  West- 
minster scholar,  who  in  all  his  later  work  among  the  papers  of 
travellers  kept  in  mind  the  practical  and  mercantile  utility  of  the 
notes  he  collected.  In  the  dedication  of  his  second  volume  (i  599) 
to  Sir  Robert  Cecil  he  calls  attention  to  new  openings  for  trade 
in  Eastern  Asia,  in  "the  manifold  Islands  of  Japan,  and  the 
Northern  parts  of  China"  ;  "because  our  chief  desire  is  to  find 
•    VOL.  I  .  513  2  L 


5 1 4  ENGLISH  PR  OSE 


out  ample  vent  of  our  woollen  cloth,  the  natural  commodity  of 
this  our  realm."  He  is  alert  to  pick  up  and  make  use  of  all  the 
enemies'  documents  ;  he  calls  attention  particularly  to  a  discourse 
"  which  was  printed  in  Latin  in  Macao,  a  city  of  China,  on  China 
paper,  in  the  year  a  thousand  five  hundred  and  ninety,  and  was 
intercepted  in  the  great  carack  called  Madre  de  Dios  two  years 
after,  inclosed  in  a  case  of  sweet  cedar  wood,  and  lapped  up 
almost  an  hundred-fold  in  fine  calicut-cloth,  as  though  it  had  been 
some  incomparable  jewel."  He  gathers  from  the  enemies'  freights 
every  possible  hint  that  can  be  turned  to  profit  by  English  mer- 
chants. About  the  development  of  trade  he  has  wider  views  than 
are  represented  by  his  notes,  still  extant,  of  "  commodities  in  good 
request."  He  kept  on  urging  with  all  his  might  the  advantage  of 
colonies  in  America.  This  is  the  first  topic  of  his  letter  to  Sidney, 
the  dedication  of  his  first  book  : — 

"  I  marvel  not  a  little  (right  worshipful)  that  since  the  first 
discovery  of  America  (which  is  now  full  fourscore  and  ten  years) 
after  so  great  conquests  and  plantings  of  the  Spaniards  and 
Portingals  there,  that  we  of  England  could  never  have  the  grace 
to  set  fast  footing  in  such  fertile  and  temperate  places  as  are  left 
as  yet  unpossessed  of  them.  But  again,  when  I  consider  that 
there  is  a  time  for  all  men,  and  see  the  Portingals'  time  to  be  out 
of  date,  and  that  the  nakedness  of  the  Spaniards  and  their  long 
hidden  secrets  are  now  at  length  espied  whereby  they  went  about 
to  delude  the  world,  I  conceive  great  hope  that  the  time  ap- 
proacheth  and  now  is,  that  we  of  England  may  share  and  part 
stakes  (if  we  will  ourselves)  both  with  the  Spaniard  and  the 
Portingal,  in  part  of  America  and  other  regions,  as  yet  undis- 
covered. And  surely  if  there  were  in  us  that  desire  to  advance 
the  honour  of  our  country  which  ought  to  be  in  every  good  man, 
we  could  not  all  this  while  have  forslown  the  possessing  of  these 
lands  which  of  equity  and  right  appertain  unto  us,  as  by  the  dis- 
courses that  follow  shall  appear  most  plainly.  Yea,  if  we  would 
behold  with  the  eye  of  pity  how  all  our  prisons  are  pestered  and 
filled  with  able  men  to  serve  their  country,  which  for  small 
robberies  are  daily  hanged  up  in  great  numbers,  even  twenty  at  a 
clap,  out  of  one  jail  (as  was  seen  at  the  last  assizes -at  Rochester) 
we  would  hasten  and  further  every  man  to  his  power  the  deduct- 
ing of  some  colonies  of  our  superfluous  people  into  those  temperate 
and  fertile  parts  of  America,  which  being  within  six  weeks'  sailing 
of  England,  are  yet  unpossessed  by  any  Christians,  and  seem  to 


RICHARD  HAKLUYT  .  515 


offer  themselves  unto  us,  stretching  nearer  unto  her  Majesty's 
dominions  than  to  any  other  part  of  Europe." 

This  was  the  argument,  also  in  1584,  of  his  Particular  discourse 
concermng  Weste^-nc  discoueries,  written  "at  the  request  and 
direction  of  the  rignte  worshipfuU  Mr.  Walter  Raghly." 

Hakluyt's  book  has  been  called  an  epic  ;  it  is  an  epic  of  the 
artless  kind,  consisting  of  several  independent  adventures,  of 
various  authorship,  strung  together  without  any  attempt  at  fusion. 
Hakluyt,  except  in  his  introductions,  scarcely  reveals  himself  at  all. 
He  collects  narratives  and  illustrative  documents  ;  he  arranges 
them  according  to  time  and  place,  and  that  is  his  work.  He  does 
not  interrupt  or  interfere  with  his  authors. 

It  takes  three  or  four  ordinary  pages  merely  to  reproduce 
Hakluyt's  titles  ;  to  give  any  succinct  account  of  his  vast  work  is 
not  easy.  In  three  great  divisions  it  contains  the  voyages  towards 
the  north  and  north-east,  to  the  south  and  south-east  parts  of  the 
world,  and  "  to  all  parts  of  the  Newfound  world  of  America  and 
the  West  Indies";  "my  Western  Atlantis,"  he  calls  this  third 
division  of  his  book.  It  contains,  besides  much  antiquarian 
matter,  the  record,  generally  ample  and  detailed,  of  all  the  great 
English  voyages  of  Hakluyt's  own  time  and  of  the  preceding 
generation.  Hakluyt  has  brought  together  into  one  collection 
the  voyages,  to  name  no  more  than  the  most  famous,  of  Sir  Hugh 
Willoughby  and  Anthony  Jenkinson,  of  Martin  Frobisher  and 
John  Davys,  of  Gilbert,  Hawkins,  Drake,  and  Raleigh.  There 
are  some  omissions  ;  one  of  the  most  adventurous  of  all  the 
Western  expeditions  is  passed  over  with  scant  notice  by  Hakluyt  ; 
Drake's  voyage  to  Nombre  de  Dios  in  1572  did  not  get  its  due 
from  him.  But  not  much  is  left  out  in  comparison  with  the  pro- 
fusion of  magnificent  things  here  treasured  up  and  saved  from 
neglect. 

Hakluyt's  own  writing  is  spirited  and  energetic  ;  some  of  it  is 
splendid,  especially  the  summary  of  the  English  travels  in  the 
north-east  and  in  the  Arctic  ocean,  set  off  against  the  supposed 
more  comfortable  explorations  of  the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese 
in  the  south.  "  But  besides  the  foresaid  uncertainty,  into  what 
dangers  and  difficulties  they  plunged  themselves,  animus  me?ni- 
nisse  horret,  I  tremble  to  recount.  For  first  they  were  to  expose 
themselves  unto  the  rigour  of  the  stern  and  uncouth  northern 
seas,  and  to  make  trial  of  the  swelling  waves  and  boisterous 
winds  which  there  commonly  do  surge  and  blow ;  then  were  they 


5i6  ENGLISH  PROSE 


to  sail  by  the  ragged  and  perilous  coast  of  Norway^  to  frequent 
the  unhaunted  shores  of  Finmark,  to  double  the  dreadful  and 
misty  North  Cape,  to  bear  with  VVilloiighbie's  land,  to  run  along 
within  kenning  of  the  countries  of  Lapland  and  Corclia,  and  as 
it  were  to  open  and  unlock  the  sevenfold  mouth  oi  Duina." 

The  poets  are  indebted  to  the  voyagers  for  sonorous  names. 
The  influence  of  names  was  strongly  felt  by  Hakluyt  ;  they  set 
the  rhythm  of  his  periods,  as  they  control  his  thoughts  and 
imagination.  Passages  like  this  may  serve  to  show,  if  that  be 
necessary,  how  far  removed  the  industry  of  Hakluyt  was  from  the 
dull  ways  of  "  continual  plodders."  He  might  easily  have  made 
a  name  for  himself  as  a  writer,  as  an  essayist  or  commentator,  if 
he  had  not  sacrificed  this  prospect  for  the  sake  of  his  hfelong 
work  of  research. 

W.  P.  Ker. 


PRINCIPAL  NAVIGATIONS,  VOYAGES,  TRAFFIQUES, 
AND   DISCOVERIES   OF  THE  ENGLISH    NATION 

By  Richard  Hakluyt, 

Preacher,  and  sometime  Student  of  Christ  Church  in  Oxford  (1598). 

H  A  preface  to  the  Reader  as  touching  the  principal  Voyages 
and  discourses  in  this  first  part. 

Having  for  the  benefit  and  honour  of  my  country  zealously 
bestowed  so  many  years,  so  much  travail  and  cost,  to  bring 
antiquities  smothered  and  buried  in  dark  silence,  to  light,  and 
to  preserve  certain  memorable  exploits  of  late  years  by  our 
English  nation  achieved,  from  the  greedy  and  devouring  jaws 
of  oblivion  ;  to  gather  likewise,  and  as  it  were  to  incorporate  into 
one  body  the  torn  and  scattered  limbs  of  our  ancient  and  late 
navigations  by  sea,  our  voyages  by  land,  and  traffiques  of 
merchandise  by  both  ;  and  having  (so  much  as  in  me  lieth) 
restored  each  particular  member,  being  before  displaced,  to  their 
true  joints  and  ligaments  ;  I  mean,  by  the  help  of  Geography 
and  Chronology  (which  I  may  call  the  Sun  and  the  Moon, 
the  right  eye  and  the  left  of  all  history)  referred  each  particular 
relation  to  the  due  time  and  place ;  I  do  this  second  time 
(friendly  Reader,  if  not  to  satisfy,  yet  at  least  for  the  present,  to 
allay  and  hold  in  suspense  thine  expectation)  presume  to  offer 
unto  thy  view  this  first  part  of  my  threefold  discourse.  For  the 
bringing  of  which  into  homely  and  rough-hewen  shape,  which 
here  thou  seest  ;  what  restless  nights,  what  painful  days,  what 
heat,  what  cold  I  have  endured  ;  how  many  long  and  charge- 
able journeys  I  have  travelled  ;  how  many  famous  libraries  I 
have  searched  into  ;  what  variety  of  ancient  and  modern  writers 
I  have  perused  ;  what  a  number  of  old  records,  patents,  privileges, 
letters,  &c.,  I  have  redeemed  from  obscurity  and  perishing  ;  into 
how  manifold  acquaintance    I    have   entered  ;    what    expenses    I 

5^7 


5 1 8  ENGLISH  PR  OSE 

have  not  spared  ;  and  yet  what  fair  opportunities  of  private 
gain,  preferment,  and  ease  I  have  neglected ;  albeit  thyself 
canst  hardly  imagine,  yet  I  by  daily  experience  do  find  and 
feel,  and  some  of  my  entire  friends  can  sufficiently  testify. 
Howbeit  (as  I  told  thee  at  the  first)  the  honour  and  benefit  of 
this  common  weal  wherein  I  live  and  breathe,  hath  made  all 
difficulties  seem  easy,  all  pains  and  industry  pleasant,  and  all 
expenses  of  light  value  and  moment  unto  me. 

For  (to  contain  myself  only  within  the  bounds  of  this  present 
discourse,  and  in  the  midst  thereof  to  begin)  will  it  not  in  all 
posterity  be  as  great  a  renown  unto  our  English  nation,  to  have 
been  the  first  discoverers  of  a  sea  beyond  the  North  cape  (never 
certainly  known  before)  and  of  a  Convenient  passage  into  the 
huge  Empire  of  Russia  by  the  bay  of  S.  Nicholas  and  the  river 
Duina  ;  as  for  the  Portugales  to  have  found  a  sea  beyond  the 
cape  of  Buona  Esperanza,  and  so  consequently  a  passage  by  sea 
into  the  East  Indies  ;  or  for  the  Italians  and  Spaniards  to  have 
discovered  unknown  lands  so  many  hundred  leagues  westward 
and  southwestward  of  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  and  of  the  pillars 
of  Hercules  ?  Be  it  granted  that  the  renowned  Portugale  Vasques 
de  Gama  traversed  the  main  ocean  southward  of  Africk  ;  did 
not  Richard  Chanceler  and  his  mates  perform  the  like  north- 
ward of  Europe  }  Suppose  that  Columbus,  that  noble  and  high- 
spirited  Genuois,  escried  unknown  lands  to  the  westward  of 
Europe  and  Africk  ;  did  not  the  valiant  English  knight  Sir 
Hugh  Willoughby,  did  not  the  famous  pilots  Stephen  Burrough, 
Arthur  Pet,  and  Charles  Jackman,  accost  Nova  Zembla,  Colgoieve, 
and  Vaigatz  to  the  north  of  Europe  and  Asia  ?  Howbeit  you 
will  say  perhaps,  not  with  the  like  golden  success,  not  with  such 
deductions  of  colonies,  nor  attaining  of  conquests.  True  it  is 
that  our  success  hath  not  been  correspondent  unto  theirs  :  yet 
in  this  our  attempt  the  uncertainty  of  finding  was  far  greater, 
and  the  difficulty  and  danger  of  searching  was  no  whit  less. 
For  hath  not  Herodotus  (a  man  for  his  time,  most  skilful  and 
judicial  in  cosmography,  who  writ  above  2000  years  ago)  in 
his  4th  book  called  Melpomene,  signified  unto  the  Portugales  in 
plain  terms  ;  that  Africk,  except  the  small  Isthmus  between  the 
Arabian  gulf  and  the  Mediterran  sea,  was  on  all  sides  environed 
with  the  Ocean  }  And  for  the  further  confirmation  thereof,  doth 
he  not  make  mention  of  one  Neco  an  /Egyptian  King,  who  (for 
trial's  sake)  sent  a  fleet  of  Phoenicians  down  the  Red  Sea  ;  who 


RICHARD  HAKLUYT  519 

setting  forth  in  Autumn  and  sailing  southward  till  they  had  the 
Sun  at  noontide  upon  their  starboard  (that  is  to  say,  having 
crossed  the  ^Equinoctial  and  the  southern  tropic)  after  a  long 
navigation,  directed  their  course  to  the  north,  and  in  the  space 
of  three  years  environed  all  Africk,  passing  home  through  the 
Gaditan  straits,  and  arriving  in  ^gypt  ?  And  doth  not  Pliny 
tell  them  that  noble  Hanno,  in  the  flourishing  time  and  estate  of 
Carthage,  sailed  from  Gades  in  Spain  to  the  coast  of  Arabia 
Felix,  and  put  down  his  whole  journal  in  writing  ?  Doth  he 
not  make  mention  that  in  the  time  of  Augustus  Ca;sar,  the  wrack 
of  certain  Spanish  ships  was  found  floating  in  the  Arabian  gulf? 
And,  not  to  be  over  tedious  in  alleging  of  testimonies,  doth  not 
Strabo  in  the  second  book  of  his  geography,  together  with  Cornelius 
Nepos  and  Pliny  in  the  place  before -named,  agree  all  in  one, 
that  one  Eudoxius,  fleeing  from  king  Lathyrus,  and  vali?!g  down 
the  Arabian  bay,  sailed  along,  doubled  the  southern  point  of 
Africk,  and  at  length  arrived  at  Gades  ?  And  what  should  I 
speak  of  the  Spaniards  ?  Was  not  divine  Plato  (who  lived  so 
many  ages  ago,  and  plainly  described  their  West  Indies  under 
the  name  of  Atlantis)  was  not  he  (I  say)  instead  of  a  Cosmo- 
grapher  unto  them  ?  Were  not  those  Carthaginians  mentioned 
by  Aristotle  lib.  de  admirabil.  aiiscult.  their  forerunners  ?  And 
had  they  not  Columbus  to  stir  them  up,  and  prick  them  for- 
ward unto  their  Western  discoveries  ;  yea,  to  be  their  chief 
loads-man  and  pilot  ?  Sithens  therefore  these  two  worthy  nations 
had  those  bright  lamps  of  learning  (I  mean  the  most  ancient 
and  best  philosophers,  historiographers  and  geographers)  to 
shew  them  light  ;  and  the  load-star  of  experience  (to  wit  those 
great  exploits  and  voyages  laid  up  in  store  and  recorded) 
whereby  to  shape  their  course  :  what  great  attempt  might  they 
not  presume  to  undertake  ?  But  alas  !  our  English  nation,  at  the 
first  setting  forth  for  their  north-eastern  discovery,  were  either 
altogether  destitute  of  such  clear  lights  and  inducements,  or  if 
they  had  any  inkling  at  all,  it  was  as  misty  as  they  found  the 
northern  seas,  and  so  obscure  and  ambiguous,  that  it  was  meet 
rather  to  deter  them,  than  to  give  them  encouragement. 

But  besides  the  foresaid  uncertainty,  into  what  dangers  and 
difficulties  they  plunged  themselves,  Atiimtis  viefninissc  /lorret, 
I  tremble  to  recount.  For  first  they  were  to  expose  themselves 
unto  the  rigour  of  the  stern  and  uncouth  northern  seas,  and  to 
make  trial  of  the  swelling  waves  and  boisterous  winds  which  tliere 


520  ENGLISH  PROSE 


commonly  do  surge  and  blow :  then  were  they  to  sail  by  the 
ragged  and  perilous  coast  of  Norway,  to  frequent  the  unhaunted 
shores  of  Finmark,  to  double  the  dreadful  and  misty  North  cape, 
to  bear  with  Willoughbie's  land,  to  lun  along  within  kenning  of 
the  countries  of  Lapland  and  Corelia,  and  as  it  were  to  open  and 
unlock  the  sevenfold  mouth  of  Duina.  Moreover,  in  their  north- 
easterly navigations,  upon  the  seas  and  by  the  coasts  of  Condora, 
Colgoieve,  Petzora,  Joughoda,  Samoedia,  Nova  Zembla,  etc.,  and 
their  passing  and-  return  through  the  straits  of  Vaigatz,  unto 
what  drifts  of  snow  and  mountains  of  ice  even  in  June,  July,  and 
August,  unto  what  hideous  overfalls,  uncertain  currents,  dark 
mists  and  fogs,  and  divers  other  feareful  inconveniences  they 
were  subject  and  in  danger  of,  I  wish  you  rather  to  learn  out  of 
the  voyages  of  Sir  Hugh  Willoughbie,  Stephen  Burrough,  Arthur 
Pet  and  the  rest,  than  to  expect  in  this  place  an  endless  cata- 
logue thereof  And  here  by  the  way  I  cannot  but  highly  com- 
mend the  great  industry  and  magnanimity  of  the  Hollanders,  who 
within  these  few  years  have  discovered  to  78.  yea  (as  themselves 
afifirm)  to  81.  degrees  of  northerly  latitude:  yet  with  this  pro- 
viso ;  that  our  English  nation  led  them  the  dance,  brake  the  ice 
before  them,  and  gave  them  good  leave  to  light  their  candle  at 
our  torch.  But  now  it  is  high  time  for  us  to  weigh  our  anchor, 
to  hoise  up  our  sails,  to  get  clear  of  these  boisterous,  frosty,  and 
misty  seas,  and  with  all  speed  to  direct  our  course  for  the  mild, 
lightsome,  temperate,  and  warm  Atlantic  Ocean,  over  which  the 
Spaniards  and  Portugales  have  made  so  many  pleasant,  pros- 
perous, and  golden  voyages.  And  albeit  I  cannot  deny,  that  both 
of  them  in  their  East  and  West  Indian  navigations  have  endured 
many  tempests,  dangers,  and  shipvvracks  :  yet  this  dare  I  boldly 
affirm  ;  first  that  a  great  number  of  them  have  satisfied  their 
fame -thirsty  and  gold -thirsty  minds  with  that  reputation  and 
wealth,  which  made  all  perils  and  misadventures  seem  tolerable 
unto  them  ;  and  secondly,  that  their  first  attempts  (which  in  this 
comparison  I  do  only  stand  upon)  were  no  whit  more  difficult 
and  dangerous,  then  ours  to  the  northeast.  For  admit  that  the 
way  was  much  longer,  yet  was  it  never  barred  with  ice,  mist,  or 
darkness,  but  was  at  all  seasons  of  the  year  open  and  navigable  ; 
yea  and  that  for  the  most  part  with  fortunate  and  fit  gales  of 
wind.  Moreover  they  had  no  foreign  prince  to  intercept  or 
molest  them,  but  their  own  towns,  islands,  and  main  lands  to 
succour   them.      The   Spaniards  had  the  Canary   Isles  ;    and  so 


REPORT  OF  DRAKE'S   VOYAGE,  1572  521 

had  the  Portugales  the  Isles  of  Azores,  of  Porto  santo,  of  Madera, 
of  Cape  verd,  the  castle  of  Mina,  the  fruitful  and  profitable  Isle 
of  S.  Thomas,  being  all  of  them  conveniently  situated,  and  well 
fraught  with  commodities.  And  had  they  not  continual  and 
yearly  trade  in  some  one  part  or  other  of  Africa,  for  getting  of 
slaves,  for  sugar,  for  elephants'  teeth,  grains,  silver,  gold,  and 
other  precious  wares,  which  served  as  allurements  to  draw  them 
on  by  little  and  little,  and  as  props  to  stay  them  from  giving 
over  their  attempts  ?  But  now  let  us  leave  them  and  return 
home  unto  ourselves. 


DRAKE  AT  NOMBRE  DE  DIOS,  July  1572 

[Drake  sailed  along  with  Hawkins  in  the  "  troublesome  voyage  "  which  led 
to  the  misadventure  at  S.  Juan  de  Ulloa  in  1568,  and  escaped  in  his  bark  the 
Judith  from  the  Spanish  attack  on  Hawkins's  ships.  In  each  of  the  three 
years  that  followed  his  return,  Drake  sailed  out  "  to  get  some  amends  for  his 
loss."  His  attack  on  Nombre  de  Dios,  "  the  mouth  of  the  treasure  of  the 
whole  world,"  the  port  on  the  Isthmus  for  the  treasure  convoys  from  Panama' 
and  the  South  Sea,  was  an  incident  in  the  third  of  these  voyages.  It  is  only 
touched  on  casually  by  Hakluyt  ;  the  full  narrative,  one  of  the  liveliest  in  all 
that  part  of  history,  was  published  in  1626  by  Drake's  nephew,  and  is  de- 
scribed as  ' '  faithfully  taken  out  of  the  report  of  Master  Christopher  Ceely,  Ellis 
Hixom,  and  others  who  were  in  the  same  voyage  with  him,  by  Philip  A'ichols, 
preacher  ;  reviewed  also  by  Sir  Francis  Drake  himself  before  his  death  ;  and 
much  holpen  and  enlarged  by  divers  notes,  with  his  own  hand,  here  and  there 
inserted."  This  account  "Sir  Francis  Drake  revived"  is  reprinted  in  Mr. 
Arher' 5  English  Garner,  vol.  v.  pp.  487-560.] 

Then  we  weighed  again,  and  set  sail,  rowing  hard  aboard  the 
shore,  with  as  much  silence  as  we  could,  till  we  recovered  the 
point  of  the  harbour  under  the  high  land.  There  we  stayed,  all 
silent,  purposing  to  attempt  the  town  in  the  dawning  of  the  day, 
after  that  we  had  reposed  oursdlves  for  a  while. 

But  our  captain  with  some  other  of  his  best  men,  finding  that 
our  people  were  talking  of  the  greatness  of  the  town,  and  what 
their  strength  might  be,  especially  by  the  report  of  the  Negroes 
that  we  took  at  the  Isle  of  Pinos,  thought  it  best  to  put  these 
conceits  out  of  their  heads,  and  therefore  to  take  the  opportunity 
of  the  rising  of  the  moon  that  night,  persuading  them  that  it  was 
the  day  dawning.  By  this  occasion  we  were  at  the  town  a  large 
hour  sooner  than  first  was  purposed.      For  we  arrived  there  by 


522  ENGLISH  PROSE 


three  of  the  clock  after  midnight.  At  what  time  it  fortuned  that 
a  ship  of  Spain,  of  60  tons,  laden  with  Canary  wines  and  other 
commodities,  which  had  but  lately  come  into  the  bay  and  had  not 
yet  furled  her  sprit-sail  (espying  our  four  pinnaces,  being  an  extra- 
ordinary number,  and  those  rowing  with  many  oars)  sent  away  her 
gundeloe  towards  the  town,  to  give  warning.  But  our  Captain, 
perceiving  it,  cut  betwixt  her  and  the  town,  forcing  her  to  go  to 
the  other  side  of  the  bay  :  whereby  we  landed  without  impeach- 
ment, although  we  found  one  gunner  upon  the  platform  in  the  very 
place  where  we  landed  ;  being  a  sandy  place  and  no  quay  at  all, 
not  past  twenty  yards  from  the  houses.  There  we  found  six  great 
pieces  of  brass  ordnance,  mounted  upon  their  carriages,  some 
demy,  some  whole-culvering.  We  presently  dismounted  them. 
The  gunner  fled.  The  town  took  alarm  (being  very  ready  thereto, 
by  reason  of  their  often  disquieting  by  their  near  neighbours  the 
Cimaroons)  ;  as  we  perceived,  not  only  by  the  noise  and  cries  of 
the  people,  but  by  the  bell  ringing  out,  and  drums  running  up  and 
down  the  town. 

Our  Captain,  according  to  the  directions  which  he  had  given 
over  night,  to  such  as  he  had  made  choice  of  for  the  purpose,  left 
twelve  to  keep  the  pinnaces  ;  that  we  might  be  sure  of  a  safe 
retreat,  if  the  worst  befell.  And  having  made  sure  work  of  the 
platform  before  he  would  enter  the  town,  he  thought  best,  first  to 
view  the  Mount  on  the  east  side  of  the  town  :  where  he  was 
informed,  by  sundry  intelligences  the  year  before,  they  had  an 
intent  to  plant  ordnance,  which  might  scour  round  about  the  town. 

Therefore,  leaving  one  half  of  his  company  to  make  a  stand  at 
the  foot  of  the  Mount,  he  marched  up  presently  unto  the  top  of  it, 
with  all  speed  to  try  the  truth  of  the  report,  for  the  more  safety. 
There  we  found  no  piece  of  ordnance,  but  only  a  very  fit  place 
prepared  for  such  use,  and  therefore  we  left  it  without  any  of  our 
men,  and  with  all  celerity  returned  now  down  the  Mount. 

Then  our  Captain  appointed  bis  brother,  with  John  Oxenham 
and  sixteen  other  of  his  men,  to  go  about  behind  the  King's 
Treasure  House,  and  enter  near  the  eastern  end  of  the  Market 
Place  :  himself,  with  the  rest,  would  pass  up  the  broad  street  into 
the  Market  Place,  with  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet.  The  fire- 
pikes,  divided  half  to  the  one,  and  half  to  the  other  company, 
served  no  less  for  fright  to  the  enemy  than  light  of  our  men,  who 
by  this  means  might  discern  every  place  very  well,  as  if  it  were 
near  day :  whereas  the  inhabitants  stood  amazed  at  so  strange  a 


REPORT  OF  DRAKE'S  VOYAGE,  1572  523 

sight,  marvelling  what  the  matter  might  be,  and  imagining,  by 
reason  of  our  drums  and  trumpets  sounding  in  so  sundry  places, 
that  we  had  been  a  far  greater  number  than  we  were. 

Yet,  by  means  of  the  soldiers  which  were  in  the  town,  and  by 
reason  of  the  time  which  we  spent  in  marching  up  and  down  the 
Mount,  the  soldiers  and  inhabitants  had  put  themselves  in  arms, 
and  brought  their  companies  in  some  order,  at  the  south-east  end 
of  the  Market  Place,  near  the  Governor's  House,  and  not  far  from 
the  gate  of  the  town,  which  is  the  only  one,  leading  towards 
Panama  :  having  (as  it  seems)  gathered  themselves  thither,  either 
that  in  the  Governor's  sight  they  might  shew  their  valour,  if  it 
might  prevail  ;  or  else,  that  by  the  gate,  they  might  best  take 
their  Vale^  and  escape  readiest. 

And  to  make  a  shew  of  far  greater  numbers  of  shot,  or  else  of 
a  custom  they  had,  by  the  like  device  to  terrify  the  Cimaroons  ; 
they  had  hung  lines  with  matches  lighted,  overthwart  the  wester 
end  of  the  Market  Place,  between  the  Church  and  the  Cross  ;  as 
though  there  had  been  in  a  readiness  some  company  of  shot, 
whereas  indeed  there  were  not  past  two  or  three  that  taught  these 
lines  to  dance,  till  they  themselves  ran  away,  as  soon  as  they  per- 
ceived they  were  discovered. 

But  the  soldiers  and  such  as  were  joined  with  them,  presented 
us  with  a  jolly  hot  volley  of  shot,  beating  full  upon  the  egress  of 
that  street  in  which  we  marched  ;  and  levelling  very  low,  so  as 
their  bullets  ofttimes  grazed  on  the  sand. 

We  stood  not  to  answer  them  in  like  terms  ;  but  having  dis- 
charged our  first  volley  of  shot,  and  feathered  them  with  our 
arrows  (which  our  Captain  had  caused  to  be  made  of  purpose  in 
England  ;  not  great  sheaf  arrows,  but  fine  roving  shafts,  very  care- 
fully reserved  for  the  service)  we  came  to  the  push  of  pike,  so  that 
our  firepikes  being  well  armed  and  made  of  purpose,  did  us  very 
great  service. 

For  our  men  with  their  pikes  and  short  weapons,  in  short  time 
took  such  order  among  these  gallants  (some  using  the  butt-end  of 
their  pieces  instead  of  other  weapons),  that  partly  by  reason  of  our 
arrows  which  did  us  there  notable  service,  partly  by  occasion  of 
this  strange  and  sudden  closing  with  them  in  this  manner  unlocked 
for,  and  the  rather  for  that  at  the  very  instant,  our  Captain's 
brother,  with  the  other  company,  with  their  firepikes,  entered  the 
Market  Place  by  the  easter  street  ;  they,  casting  down  their 
weapons,  fled  all  out  of  the  town  by  the  gate  aforesaid,  which  had 


524  ENGLISH  PROSE 


been  built  for  a  bar  to  keep  out  of  the  town  the  Cimaroons,  who 
had  often  assailed  it ;  but  now  served  for  a  gap  for  the  Spaniards 
to  fly  at. 

In  following  and  returning  divers  of  our  men  were  hurt  with 
the  weapons  which  the  enemy  had  let  fall  as  he  fled  ;  somewhat, 
for  that  we  marched  with  such  speed,  but  more  for  that  they  lay 
so  thick  and  cross  one  on  the  other. 

Being  returned,  we  made  our  stand  near  the  midst  of  the 
Market  Place,  where  a  tree  groweth  hard  by  the  Cross ;  whence 
our  Captain  sent  some  of  our  men  to  stay  the  ringing  of  the  alarm 
bell,  which  had  continued  all  this  while  ;  but  the  church  being  very 
strongly  built  and  fast  shut,  they  could  not  without  firing  (which 
our  Captain  forbade)  get  into  the  steeple  where  the  bell  rung. 

In  the  meantime,  our  Captain,  having  taken  two  or  three 
Spaniards  in  their  flight,  commanded  them  to  shew  him  the 
Governor's  House,  where  he  understood  was  the  ordinary  place  of 
unlading  the  mules  of  all  the  treasure  which  came  from  Panama 
by  the  King's  appointment.  Although  the  silver  only  was  kept 
there  ;  the  gold,  pearl,  and  jewels  (being  there  once  entered  by 
the  King's  officer)  was  carried  from  thence  to  the  King's  Treasure 
House  not  far  off,  being  a  house  very  strongly  built  of  lime  and 
stone,  for  the  safe  keeping  thereof. 

At  our  coming  to  the  Governor's  House,  we  found  the  great 
door  where  the  mules  do  usually  unlade,  even  then  opened,  a 
candle  lighted  upon  the  top  of  the  stairs  ;  and  a  fair  gennet  ready 
saddled,  either  for  the  Governor  himself,  or  some  other  of  his 
household  to  carry  it  after  him.  By  means  of  this  light  we  saw 
a  huge  heap  of  silver  in  that  nether  room  ;  being  a  pile  of  bars  of 
silver  of,  as  near  as  we  could  guess,  seventy  feet  in  length,  of  ten 
feet  in  breadth,  and  twelve  feet  in  height,  piled  up  against  the 
wall,  each  bar  was  between  thirty-five  and  forty  pounds  in  weight. 

At  sight  hereof,  our  Captain  commanded  straitly  that  none  of 
us  should  touch  a  bar  of  silver  ;  but  stand  upon  our  weapons, 
because  the  town  was  full  of  people,  and  there  was  in  the  King's 
Treasure  House  near  the  water  side,  more  gold  and  jewels  than 
all  our  four  pinnaces  could  carry :  which  we  would  presently  set 
some  in  hand  to  break  open,  notwithstanding  the  Spaniards' 
report  of  the  strength  of  it. 

We  were  no  sooner  returned  to  our  strength,  but  there  was  a 
report  brought  by  some  of  our  men  that  our  pinnaces  were  in 
danger  to  be  taken  ;  and   that   if  we  ourselves   got  not  aboard 


REPORT  OF  DRAKE'S  VOYAGE,  I 57 2  525 

before  day,  we  should  be  oppressed  with  multitude  both  of 
soldiers  and  townspeople.  This  report  had  his  ground  from  one 
Diego  a  negro,  who,  in  the  time  of  the  first  contii(^t,  came  and 
called  to  our  pinnaces,  to  know  "  whether  they  were  Captain 
Drake's  ? "  And  upon  answer  received,  continued  entreating  to 
be  taken  aboard,  though  he  had  first  three  or  four  shot  made  at 
him,  until  at  length  they  fetched  him  ;  and  learned  by  him,  that, 
not  past  eight  days  before  our  arrival,  the  King  had  sent  thither 
some  150  soldiers  to  guard  the  town  against  the  Cimaroons,  and 
the  town  at  this  time  was  full  of  people  beside  ;  which  all  the 
rather  believed,  because  it  agreed  with  the  report  of  the  Negroes 
which  we  took  before  at  the  Isle  of  Pinos.  And  therefore  our 
Captain  sent  his  brother  and  John  Oxenham  to  understand  the 
truth  thereof. 

They  found  our  men  which  we  left  in  our  pinnaces  much 
frightened,  by  reason  that  they  saw  great  troops  and  companies 
running  up  and  down,  with  matches  lighted,  some  with  other 
weapons,  crying  Que  gente  f  que  gente  ?  which  not  having  been 
at  the  first  conflict,  but  coming  from  the  utter  ends  of  the  town 
(being  at  least  as  big  as  Plymouth),  came  many  times  near  us  ; 
and  understanding  that  we  were  English,  discharged  their  pieces 
and  ran  away. 

Presently  after  this,  a  mighty  shower  of  rain,  with  a  tenrible 
storm  of  thunder  and  lightning,  fell,  which  poured  down  so 
vehemently  (as  it  usually  doth  in  those  countries)  that  before  we 
could  recover  the  shelter  of  a  certain  shade  or  pent-house  at  the 
western  end  of  the  King's  Treasure  House  (which  seemeth  to 
have  been  built  there  of  purpose  to  avoid  sun  and  rain)  some  of 
our  bowstrings  were  wet,  and  some  of  our  match  and  powder 
hurt.  Which  while  we  were  careful  of,  to  refurnish  and  supply, 
divers  of  our  men  harping  on  the  reports  lately  brought  us,  were 
muttering  of  the  forces  of  the  town,  which  our  Captain  perceiv- 
ing, told  them  that  "  he  had  brought  them  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Treasure  of  the  World  :  if  they  would  want  it,  they  might  hence- 
forth blame  nobody  but  themselves  !  " 

And  therefore  as  soon  as  the  storm  began  to  assuage  of  his 
fury  (which  was  a  long  half-hour)  willing  to  give  his  men  no 
longer  leisure  to  demur  of  those  doubts,  nor  yet  allow  the  enemy 
farther  respite  to  gather  themselves  together,  he  stept  forward 
commanding  his  brother,  with  John  Oxenham  and  the  company 
appointed  them,  to  break  the  King's  Treasure  House ;  the  rest  to 


526  ENGLISH  PROSE 


follow  him  to  keep  the   strength   of  the   Market  Place,  till  they 
had  despatched  the  business  for  which  they  came. 

But  as  he  stepped  forward,  his  strength  and  speech  failed  him, 
and  he  began  to  faint  for  want  of  blood,  which,  as  then  we  per- 
ceived, had,  in  great  quantity,  issued  upon  the  sand,  out  of  a 
wound  received  in  his  leg  in  the  first  encounter,  whereby  though 
he  felt  some  pain,  yet  (for  that  he  perceived  divers  of  the  com- 
pany, having  already  gotten  many  good  things,  to  be  very  ready 
to  take  all  occasions  of  winding  themselves  out  of  that  conceited 
danger)  would  he  not  have  it  known  to  any,  till  this  his  fainting, 
against  his  will,  bewrayed  it  ;  the  blood  having  first  filled  the  very 
prints  which  our  footsteps  made,  to  the  greater  dismay  of  all  our 
company,  who  thought  it  not  credible  that  one  man  should  be 
able  to  spare  so  much  blood  and  live. 

And  therefore,  even  they  which  were  willing  to  have  ad- 
ventured the  most  for  so  fair  a  booty,  would  in  no  case  hazard 
their  Captain's  life  ;  but  (having  given  him  somewhat  to  drink 
wherewith  he  recovered  himself,  and  having  bound  his  scarf  about 
his  leg  for  the  stopping  of  the  blood)  entreated  him  to  be  content 
to  go  with  them  aboard,  there  to  have  his  wound  searched  and 
dressed,  and  then  to  return  on  shore  again  if  he  thought  good. 

This,  when  they  could  not  persuade  him  unto  (as  who  knew  it 
to  be  utterly  impossible,  at  least  very  unlikely,  that  ever  they 
should,  for  that  time,  return  again,  to  recover  the  state  in  which 
they  now  were  :  and  was  of  opinion,  that  it  were  more  honourable 
for  himself,  to  jeopard  his  life  for  so  great  a  benefit,  than  to  leave 
ofif  so  high  an  enterprise  unperformed),  they  joined  altogether 
and  with  force  mingled  with  fair  entreaty,  they  bare  him  aboard 
his  pinnace,  and  so  abandoned  a  most  rich  spoil  for  the  present, 
only  to  preserve  their  Captain's  life  :  and  being  resolved  of  him, 
that  while  they  enjoyed  his  presence,  and  had  him  to  command 
them,  they  might  recover  wealth  sufficient  ;  but  if  once  they  lost 
him,  they  should  hardly  be  able  to  recover  home,  no,  not  with 
that  which  they  had  gotten  already. 

Thus  we  embarked  by  break  of  the  day,  having  beside  our 
Captain,  many  of  our  men  wounded,  though  none  slain  but  one 
Trumpeter, 

(From  Sir  Francis  Drake  revived,  1626.) 


SIR   WALTER   RALEIGH 

[Walter  Raleigh,  the  second  son  of  Walter  Raleigh  of  Hayes  Barton,  was 
born  in  1552  at  East  Budleigh,  Devonshire.  He  was  educated  at  Christ 
Church  and  Oriel  College,  Oxford.  At  the  close  of  1579  he  joined  the 
expedition  to  defend  Ireland  against  Catholic  invasion.  He  became  a  courtier 
of  Elizabeth,  and  in  1585  was  knighted.  Early  in  1595  he  started  on  an 
expedition  to  explore  Guiana.  Next  year  he  took  part  in  the  attack  on  Cadiz 
from  the  sea,  and  later  on,  in  1596,  in  the  "  Island  Voyage  "  to  the  Azores. 
In  1600  Raleigh  was  made  Governor  of  Jersey.  With  the  accession  of  James 
I.  the  fortunes  of  this  picturesque  favourite  of  Elizabeth  were  reversed.  On 
the  17th  of  July  1603  Raleigh  was  arrested  at  Windsor.  Tried  at  Winchester 
for  "  rebellion,"  and  condemned,  he  was  thrown  into  the  Tower  of  London, 
where  he  remained  until  1616.  Early  in  1617  he  started  again  for  Guiana, 
was  arrested  on  his  return  to  England  in  June  1618,  and  was  beheaded  in 
Old  Palace  Yard,  Westminster,  on  the  29th  of  October  of  the  same  year. 
His  head  was  embalmed,  and  his  body  buried  in  St.  Margaret's,  Westminster.] 

Until  his  fortieth  year  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  whose  ambition  to 
be  a  poet  was  but  a  vacillating  one,  showed  no  desire  at  all  to 
express  himself  in  deliberate  prose.  In  1591  he  published 
anonymously  the  little  pamphlet  called  A  Report  of  the  Fight  in 
ike  Azores,  which  defended  the  reputation  and  celebrated  the 
courage  of  Sir  Richard  Grenville.  It  is  an  admirable  piece  of 
succinct  and  manly  narrative,  without  extrinsic  adornment,  con- 
ceived in  the  manner  of  the  Hakluyts  and  Frobishers,  whose  rude 
sea-chronicles  are  still  such  delightful  reading.  The  Report  has 
the  faults  of  its  age  ;  it  is  not  a  merit  that  the  opening  sentence 
contains  one  hundred  and  thirty-three  words  ;  and  where  the 
writer  would  be  eloquent,  he  is  apt  to  be  lumbering.  But  when 
he  describes  direct  occurrences,  and  marshals  recollections  in  his 
burning  way,  his  glow  of  patriotism  shortens  his  phrases  and 
divides  his  clauses.  The  tract  is  one  which  no  Englishman  can 
read  without  being  stirred  by  it  "as  by  the  sound  of  a  trumpet." 
Raleigh's  next  performance  was  a  much  more  elaborate  one. 
527 


52S  ENGLISH  PROSE 


In  1596  (December  1595)  he  published  The  Discovery  of  Guiana, 
a  record  of  the  authors  romantic  expedition  to  EI  Dorado,  and  the 
great  and  golden  city  of  Manoa.  This  was  a  work  of  high  im- 
portance in  the  development  of  English  prose,  the  most  brilliant 
and  original  contribution  to  the  literature  of  travel  which  had  been 
made  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  rich  as  that  had  been  in  work 
of  the  same  class.  Hume,  who  spurned  the  Discovery  from  him 
as  "full  of  the  grossest  and  most  palpable  lies,"  showed  an 
eighteenth-century  blindness  to  the  truth  which  lay  under  the 
magnificent  diction  of  Raleigh's  narrative,  but  it  is  strange  that 
the  conduct  of  that  narrative  itself  could  win  no  word  of  praise 
from  such  a  critic.  The  story  of  the  advance  upon  South 
America,  the  curious  little  prologue  in  Trinidad,  the  romantic 
voyage  to  the  Orinoco,  the  gorgeous  denizens  of  the  river-banks, 
the  dreary  and  mysterious  country  into  which  the  bewildered 
explorers  penetrated,  all  these  are  described  in  language  the  peculiar 
charm  of  which  is  its  simplicity,  laced  or  embroidered  at  suc- 
cessive moments  by  phrases  of  extreme  magnificence.  We  are 
not  dazzled  and  wearied  by  the  cumulative  richness  of  diction,  as 
is  the  case  in  those  tracts  of  the  Euphuists  which  were  at  this 
very  time  being  produced,  but  the  sobriety  of  the  general  texture 
justly  relieves  the  occasional  splendour  of  embroidery.  It  would 
not  be  uninstructive  to  compare  a  page  of  The  Discovery  of 
Guiana  with  one  from  another  famous  South  American  volume  of 
the  same  year,  1596,  the  Margarite  of  America  of  Lodge.  The 
studied  mellifluous  harmony  of  the  latter  seems  very  fine,  until  we 
are  sated  with  its  sumptuousness  ;  but  Raleigh's  stronger  and 
simpler  narrative  gives  the  ear  a  far  more  lasting  pleasure.  It  is 
remarkable  that  the  publication  of  the  Discovery  is  almost  exactly 
coeval  with  the  first  appearance  of  Hooker  and  of  Bacon.  In 
company  with  these  great  writers,  Raleigh  comes  forward  as  a 
defender  of  lucid  and  wholesome  prose,  against  the  captivating 
malady  of  the  Euphuists. 

The  long  and  vigorous  letter,  entitled  A  Relation  of  Cadiz 
Action,  was  Raleigh's  next  prose  work.  This  belongs  to  the  end 
of  the  year  1596,  and  gives  a  brilliant  description  of  that  bright 
morning  of  St.  Barnabas  which  covered  the  writer  with  so  much 
glory.  It  is  written  in  a  style  which  recalls  both  the  previous 
narratives,  but  is  perhaps  a  little  more  lax  and  hurried  than  either, 
not  having  been  composed  for  the  press.  How  lax  the  style  of 
Raleigh  could  be,  only  those  can  judge  who  have  waded  through 


SIR   WALTER  RALEIGH  529 


the  intolerable  obscurities  and  ungainly  prolixities  of  his  private 
correspondence.  As  a  letter-writer  he  was  not  above,  he  was 
indeed  distinctly  below,  the  far  from  elevated  average  of  his  con- 
temporaries. 

Immersed  in  affairs,  and  caught  in  the  web  of  his  intrigues, 
Raleigh  contributed  nothing  more  to  literature  for  twenty  years. 
But  when,  after  the  troubles  and  baffled  hopes  of  1606,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  be  as  contented  as  he  could  in  his  captivity,  he 
turned  to  books  and  to  composition  with  extreme  pleasure.  His 
writing-table  grew  to  be  the  one  spot  where  he  found  consolation, 
and  after  having  been  the  most  casual  of  fashionable  amateurs, 
he  became  the  most  voluminous  writer  of  his  age.  Between  1 606 
and  1 6 16  it  is  probable  that  no  one  in  England  blackened  so 
much  paper.  Of  Raleigh's  literary  labour  during  those  years  w^e 
possess  but  a  fragment,  yet  our  shelves  groan  beneath  it.  Of  his 
Art  of  War  by  Sea,  for  instance,  which  was  or  should  have  been 
a  work  of  great  extent,  one  or  two  chapters  are  all  that  have  come 
down  to  us,  and  many  other  books  of  Raleigh's  are  altogether 
lost. 

Only  one  of  his  many  compositions,  completed  or  projected  in 
the  Tower,  was  published  in  Raleigh's  lifetime.  This  was  The 
History  of  the  ll'or/d,  begun  probably  in  1607,  and  published, 
under  the  care  of  Ben  Jonson,  in  March  161 4.  This  was  only 
the  first,  though  it  remained  the  last,  volume  of  a  work  which 
.  Raleigh  intended  should  consist  of  at  least  three  tomes,  yet  this 
one  instalment  contains  1354  folio  pages.  It  only  brings  us 
down,  however,  to  the  conquest  of  Macedon  by  Rome.  This 
huge^  composition  is  one  of  the  principal  glories  of  seventeenth- 
century  literature,  and  takes  a  very  prominent  place  in  the  history 
of  English  prose.  As  before,  so  here  we  find  Raleigh  superior 
to  the  ornaments  and  oddities  of  the  Euphuists.  He  indites  a 
large  matter,  and  it  is  in  a  broad  and  serious  style.  The  Preface, 
perhaps,  leads  the  reader  to  expect  something  more  modem,  more 
entertaining  than  he  finds.  It  is  not  easy  to  sympathise  with  a 
historian  who  confutes  Steuchius  Eugubinus  and  Goropius 
Becanus  at  great  length,  especially  as  those  flies  now  exist  only 
in  the  amber  of  their  opponent.  But  the  narrative,  if  obsolete 
and  long-winded,  possesses  an  extraordinary  distinction,  and,  in 
its  brighter  parts,  is  positively  resplendent.  The  book  is  full  of 
practical  wisdom,  knowledge  of  men  in  the  mass,  and  trenchant 
study  of  character.  It  is  heavy  and  slow  in  movement,  the  true 
VOL.  I  2  M 


53°  ENGLISH  PROSE 

historical  spirit,  as  we  now  conceive  it,  is  absent,  and  it  would 
probably  baffle  most  readers  to  pursue  its  attenuated  thread  of 
entertainment  down  to  the  triumph  of  Emilius  Paulus.  But  of 
its  dignity  there  can  be  no  two  opinions,  and  in  sustained  power 
it  easily  surpassed  every  prose  work  of  its  own  age. 

After  the  death  of  Raleigh,  his  memory  was  peculiarly  culti- 
vated by  those  who  were  most  severely  in  opposition  to  the  King, 
Hence  it  was  men  like  John  Hampden  and  Milton  who  collected 
all  they  could  secure  of  his  scattered  MSS.  The  former  is  stated  by 
David  Lloyd  to  have  been  at  the  expense  of  having  3452  sheets 
of  Raleigh's  handwriting  copied.  By  degrees,  even  before  the 
Civil  Wars,  certain  specimens  stole  furtively  into  publicity.  In 
1628  was  printed,  at  Middelburg  in  Holland",  The  Prerogative  of 
Parliament  in  England,  in  which,  under  the  guise  of  a  dialogue 
between  a  Counsellor  of  State  and  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  the 
captive  offers,  good  advice  as  to  his  relations  with  the  House  of 
Commons,  in  very  courteous  form,  to  the  King  who  was  his 
jailor.  The  Cabinet  Council,  which  Milton  published  in  1658,  was 
another  fragment  of  Raleigh's  political  writing.  The  poet  had 
had  this  volume  "  many  years  in  my  hands,  and  finding  it  lately 
by  chance  among  other  books  and  papers,  upon  reading  thereof 
I  thought  it  a  kind  of  injury  to  withhold  longer  the  work  of  so 
eminent  an  author  from  the  public."  It  is  a  treatise  on  the  arts 
of  empire,  a  text-book  of  State-craft,  as  has  been  said,  intended 
in  usum  Delphini,  for  there  can  be  no  question  that  this  work  was 
composed  for  the  benefit  of  the  amiable  and  unfortunate  Prince 
Henry.  Another  product  of  Raleigh's  captivity  was  A  Discourse 
of  War,  a  treatise  conceived  in  a  lighter  and  less  allusive  velir 
than  Raleigh's  purely  political  writings.  The  close  of  this  dis- 
course is  printed  among  our  extracts,  and  will  be  admired  for 
dignity  and  eloquence.  Very  late  in  his  life  he  wrote  the  Obser- 
vations on  Trade  and  Commerce,  which  first  appeared,  with  other 
of  his  miscellaneous  writings,  in  165 1.  Raleigh  came  forward 
as  a  free-trader-  of  the  most  uncompromising  kind  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  King  was  most  actively  promoting  legislation 
of  a  protective  order.  Finally  must  be  mentioned  the  Breviary 
of  the  History  of  England,  printed  in  1693  ;  although  this  presents 
none  of  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  Raleigh's  style,  and  is,  in 
all  probability,  mainly  the  production  of  the  poet  Samuel  Daniel. 

Numerous  and  voluminous  as  are  the  writings  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  it   is  not  very  easy  to  form  a  general   idea  of  his  style 


SIR   WALTER  RALEIGH  531 

from  their  perusal.  He  was  what  we  now  call  an  amateur,  in 
contradistinction  to  the  author  who  makes  it  his  principal  business 
to  write,  and  who  is  constantly  preoccupied  with  the  way  in  which 
he  shall  produce  such  and  such  an  effect.  Raleigh  wrote  only 
because  he  had  something  in  his  mind  which  importuned  him  to 
say  it,  or  else  because  he  was  confined  and  fretting  for  employ- 
ment. To  praise  The  History  of  the  World  has  long  been  a 
commonplace  with  critics,  but  to  read  it  is  not  so  easy.  When  a 
biographer  of  Raleigh  tells  us  that  this  huge  chronicle  is  "  always 
bright  and  apt,"  we  know  not  what  he  means,  for  there  are  pages 
upon  pages  in  it  unillumined  by  a  single  sparkle  of  wit,  deserts  of 
scholastic  learning  absolutely  misapplied.  What  adds  nothing 
to  the  liveliness  of  the  narrative  is  the  e.xtreme  length  of  the 
languid  sentences,  clause  interwoven  into  clause,  like  the  tangle 
in  a  string-bag.  Here  is  a  sentence,  absolutely  chosen  at  random, 
yet  on  the  whole  a  distinctly  favourable  example  of  Raleigh's 
historical  manner,  when  he  is  not  particularly  moved  by  his 
theme  :— 

The  bridge  finished,  and  the  army  brought  near  to  the  sea-side,  Xerxes 
took  a  view  of  all  his  troops,  assembled  in  the  plains  of  Abidus,  being  carried 
up  and  seated  on  a  place  over-topping  the  land  round  about  it,  and  the  sea 
adjoining,  and  after  he  had  gloried  in  his  own  happiness  to  behold  and  com- 
mand so  many  nations  and  so  powerful  an  army  and  fleet,  he  suddenly,  not- 
withstanding, burst  out  into  tears,  moved  with  this  contemplation,  that  in  one 
hundred  years  there  should  not  any  one  survive  of  that  marvellous  multitude, 
the  cause  of  which  sudden  change  of  passion  when  he  uttered  to  Artabanus 
his  uncle,  Artabanus  spake  to  the  King  to  this  effect,  that  which  is  more 
lamentable  than  the  dissolution  of  this  great  troop  within  that  number  of  years 
by  the  King  remembered,  is  that  the  life  itself  which  we  enjoy  is  yet  more 
miserable  than  the  end  thereof,  for  in  those  few  days  given  us  in  the  world, 
there  is  no  man  among  all  these,  nor  elsewhere,  that  ever  found  himself  so 
accompanied  with  happiness,  but  that  he  oftentimes  pleased  himself  better 
with  the  desire  and  hope  of  death  than  of  living,  the  incident  calamities,  dis- 
eases, and  sorrows  whereto  mankind  is  subject,  being  so  many  and  incurable 
that  the  shortest  life  doth  often  appear  unto  us  over-long,  to  avoid  all  which 
there  is  neither  refuge  nor  rest,  but  in  desired  death  alone. 

The  conduct  of  this  enormous  sentence  is  skilful,  its  cadence  is 
dignified  and  sonorous,  the  ideas  it  contains  are  distinguished  ; 
but  its  elephantine  bulk,  unrelieved  as  it  is  by  any  of  the  arts 
of  punctuation,  deprives  it  of  that  pleasure-giving  power  which 
resides  in  more  brief  and  elastic  prose.  When,  moreover,  we 
find  such  a  sentence  preceded  and  followed  by  elephants  of  its 
own  size,  and  we  propose  to  read  a  volume  of  1300  folio  pages 


532  ENGLISH  PROSE 


all  constructed,  more  or  less,  after  this  pattern,  it  is  simply  unfair 
to  speak  of  such  writing  in  terms  which  would  be  appropriate  to 
the  style  of  Mr.  Froude  or  M.  Renan.  Raleigh  is  often  magnifi- 
cent, as  our  extracts  will  amply  prove,  and  he  is  at  all  times  free 
from  the  fantastic  and  abnomial  errors  of  the  prose -writers 
fashionable  in  his  time,  but  he  is  very  far  indeed  from  having 
discovered  a  current  prose-style  suitable  for  historical  uses.  He 
is  essentially  to  be  read  in  extracts,  and  admired  in  purple 
patches. 

Edmund  Gosse. 


THE  REVENGE 

The  Master  Gunner  finding  himself  and  Sir  Richard  thus  pre- 
vented and  mastered  by  the  greater  number,  would  have  slain 
himself  with  a  sword,  had  he  not  been  by  force  withheld  and 
locked  into  his  cabin.  Then  the  General  sent  many  boats  aboard 
the  Revenge,  and  divers  of  our  men,  fearing  Sir  Richard's  disposi- 
tion, stole  away  aboard  the  General  and  other  ships.  Sir  Richard 
thus  overmatched,  was  sent  unto  Alonso  Bassan  to  remove  out  of 
the  Revenge,  the  ship  being  marvellous  unsavoury,  filled  with 
blood  and  bodies  of  dead  and  wounded  men  like  a  slaughter- 
house. Sir  Richard  answered  that  he  might  do  with  his  body 
what  he  list,  for  he  esteemed  it  not,  and  as  he  was  carried  out  of 
the  ship  he  swounded,  and  reviving  again  desired  the  company  to 
pray  for  him.  The  General  used  Sir  Richard  with  all  humanity, 
and  left  nothing  unattempted  that  tended  to  his  recovery,  highly 
commending  his  valour  and  worthiness,  and  greatly  bewailed  the 
danger  wherein  he  was,  being  unto  them  a  rare  spectacle,  and 
a  resolution  seldom  approved,  to  see  one  ship  turn  toward  so 
many  enemies,  to  endure  the  charge  and  boarding  of  so  many 
huge  Armados,  and  to  resist  and  repel  the  assaults  and  entries  of 
so  many  soldiers. 

(From  A  Report  of  the  Jight  in  the  Azores.) 


A  USEFUL  HOSTAGE 

As  we  abode  there  a  while,  our  Indian  pilot,  called  Ferdinando, 
would  needs  go  ashore  to  their  village,  to  fetch  some  fruits,  and 
to  drink  of  their  artificial  wines,  and  also  to  see  the  place,  and  to 
know  the  lord  of  it  against  another  time,  and  took  with  him  a 
brother  of  his,  which  he  had  with  him  in   the  journey.      When 

533 


534  ENGLISH  PROSE 


they  came  to  the  village  of  these  people,  the  lord  of  the  island 
offered  to  lay  hands  on  them,  purposing  to  have  slain  them  both ; 
yielding  for  reason,  that  this  Indian  of  ours  had  brought  a  strange 
nation  into  their  territory,  to  spoil  and  destroy  them  ;  but  the 
pilot  being  quick,  and  of  a  disposed  body,  slipped  their  fingers, 
and  ran  into  the  woods  ;  and  his  brother,  being  the  better  footman 
of  the  two,  recovered  the  creek's  mouth,  where  we  stayed  in  our 
barge,  crying,  out  that  his  brother  was  slain.  With  that  we  set  . 
hands  on  one  of  them  that  was  next  us,  a  very  old  man,  and 
brought  him  into  the  barge,  assuring  him  that  if  we  had  not  our 
pilot  again  we  would  presently  cut  off  his  head.  This  old  man, 
being  resolved  that  he  should  pay  the  loss  of  the  other,  cried  out 
to  those  in  the  woods  to  save  Ferdinando  our  pilot  ;  but  they 
followed  him  notwithstanding,  and  hunted  after  him  upon  the 
foot  with  their  deer  dogs,  and  with  so  main  a  cry,  that  all  the 
woods  echoed  with  the  shout  they  made  ;  but  at  last  this  poor 
chased  Indian  recovered  the  river  side,  and  got  upon  a  tree,  and, 
as  we  were  coasting,  leaped  down,  and  swam  to  the  barge  half 
dead  with  fear  ;  but  our  good  hap  was,  that  we  kept  the  other 
old  Indian,  which  we  handfasted,  to  redeem  our  pilot  withal  ;  for 
being  natural  of  those  rivers,  Xve  assured  ourselves  he  knew  the 
way  better  than  any  stranger  could  ;  and  indeed  but  for  this 
chance  I  think  we  had  never  found  the  way  either  to  Guiana  or 
back  to  our  ships  ;  for  Ferdinando,  after  a  few  days,  knew 
nothing  at  all,  nor  which  way  to  turn,  yea  and  many  times  the 
old  man  himself  was  in  great  doubt  which  river  to  take.  Those 
people  which  dwell  in  these  broken  islands  and  drowned  lands 
are  generally  called  Tivitivas  :  there  are  of  them  two  sorts,  the 
one  called  Ciawani,  and  the  other  Waraweete. 

(From  The  Discovery  of  Guiana^ 


MISDEEDS  OF  HENRY  VIII 

Now  for  King  Heny  VIII.  If  all  the  pictures  and  patterns  of  a 
merciless  prince  were  lost  in  the  world,  they  might  all  again  be 
painted  to  the  life  out  of  the  story  of  this  king.  For  how  many 
servants  did  he  advance  in  haste  (but  for  what  virtue  no  man 
could  suspect),  and  with  the  change  of  his  fancy  ruined  again  ; 
no  man  knowing  for  what  offence  !      To  how  many  others  of  more 


SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  535 

desert  gave  he  abundant  flowers  from  whence  to  gather  honey, 
and  in  the  end  of  harvest  burnt  them  in  the  hive  !  How  many 
wives  did  he  cut  off  and  cast  off,  as  his  fancy  and  affection 
changed  !  How  many  princes  of  the  blood  (whereof  some  of  them 
for  age  could  hardly  crawl  towards  the  block),  with  a  world  of 
others  of  all  degrees  (of  whom  our  common  chronicles  have  kept 
the  account),  did  he  execute  !  Yea,  in  his  very  deathbed,  and 
when  he  was  at  the  point  to  have  gi\en  his  account  to  God  for 
the  abundance  of  blood  already  spilt,  he  imprisoned  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk  the  father,  and  executed  the  Earl  of  Surrey  the  son  ;  the 
one,  whose  deservings  he  knew  not  how  to  value,  having  never 
omitted  anything  that  concerned  his  own  honour  and  the  king's 
service  ;  the  other,  never  having  committed  anything  worthy  of 
his  least  displeasure  :  the  one  exceeding  valiant  and  advised  ;  the 
other  no  less  valiant  than  learned,  and  of  excellent  hope.  But 
besides  the  sorrows  which  he  heaped  upon  the  fatherless  and 
widows  at  home,  and  besides  the  vain  enterprises  abroad,  wherein 
it  is  thought  that  he  consumed  more  treasure  than  all  our  victori- 
ous kings  did  in  their  several  conquests  ;  what  causeless  and 
cruel  wars  did  he  make  upon  his  own  nephew  King  James  the 
Fifth  !  What  laws  and  wills  did  he  devise,  to  establish  this 
kingdom  in  his  own  issues  I  using  his  sharpest  weapons  to  cut 
off  and  cut  down  those  branches,  which  sprang  from  the  same 
root  .that  himself  did.  And  in  the  end  (notwithstanding  these 
his  so  many  irreligious  provisions)  it  pleased  God  to  take  away 
all  his  own,  without  increase  ;  though,  for  themselves  in  their 
several  kinds,  all  princes  of  eminent  virtue. 

(From  the  Preface  to  The  History  0/ the  World.) 


THE  ATTRIBUTES  OF  GOD 

God,  whom  the  wisest  men  acknowledge  to  be  a  power  uneffable, 
and  virtue  infinite  ;  a  light  by  abundant  clarity  invisible  ;  an 
understanding  which  itself  can  only  comprehend  ;  an  essence 
eternal  and  spiritual,  of  absolute  pureness  and  simplicity  ;  was 
and  is  pleased  to  make  himself  known  by  the  work  of  the  world  ; 
in  the  wonderful  magnitude  whereof  (all  which  he  embraceth, 
fiUeth,  and  sustaineth)  we  behold  the  image  of  that  glory  which 
cannot   be   measured,    and    withal,    that   one,   and   yet   universal 


536  ENGLISH  PROSE 


nature  which  cannot  be  defined.  In  the  glorious  lights  of  heaven 
we  perceive  a  shadow  of  his  divine  countenance  ;  in  his  merciful 
provision  for  all  that  live,  his  manifold  goodness  ;  and  lastly,  in 
creating  and  making  existent  the  world  universal,  by  the  absolute 
art  of  his  own  word,  his  power,  and  almightiness  ;  which  power, 
light,  virtue,  wisdom,  and  goodness,  being  all  but  attributes  of 
one  simple  essence,  and  one  God,  we  in  all  admire,  and  in  part 
discern  per  specu/um  creattirarum^  that  is,  in  the  disposition, 
order,  and  variety  of  celestial  and  terrestrial  bodies  :  terrestrial, 
in  their  strange  and  manifold  diversities  ;  celestial,  in  their  beauty 
and  magnitude  ;  which,  in  their  continual  and  contrary  motions, 
are  neither  repugnant,  intermixed,  nor  confounded.  By  these 
potent  effects  we  approach  to  the  knowledge  of  the  omnipotent 
Cause,  and  by  these  motions,  their  almighty  Mover. 

(From  The  History  of  the  World.") 


DEATH 

O  ELOQUENT,  just,  and  mighty  Death  !  whom  none  could 
advise,  thou  hast  persuaded  ;  what  none  hath  dared,  thou  hast 
done ;  and  whom  all  the  world  hath  flattered,  thou  only  hast  cast 
out  of  the  world  and  despised  ;  thou  hast  drawn  together  all  the 
far-stretched  greatness,  all  the  pride,  cruelty,  and  ambition  of  man, 
and  covered  it  all  over  with  these  two  narrow  words.  Hie  jacet .' 

Lastly,  whereas  this  book,  by  the  title  it  hath,  calls  itself  The 
First  Part  of  the  General  History  of  the  Worlds  implying  a  second 
and  third  volume,  which  I  also  intended,  and  have  hewn  out  ;  be- 
sides many  other  discouragements  persuading  my  silence,  it  hath 
pleased  God  to  take  that  glorious  Prince  out  of  the  world,  to  whom 
they  were  directed,  whose  unspeakable  and  never  enough  lamented 
loss  hath  taught  me  to  say  with  Job,  Versa  est  in  liictum  cithara 
fnea,  et  origanum  tneuni  in  vocem  flentium. 

(From  the  Same.) 


THE   LAW  OF  CHANGE 

It  is   the   qualifications   of  our  contemporaries,   of  the  men   that 
dwell  at  the  same  time  with  us,  must  make  us  happy  or  miserable; 


SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  537 

it  must  be  their  wisdom,  justice,  and  honour,  which  are  not  local, 
as  the  law  calls  it,  tied  or  annexed  to  a  place,  but  moving  and 
transitory  as  fortune  itself.  For  there  is  the  same  proportion  of 
good  and  evil  in  the  world  as  ever,  though  it  shifts  and  changes, 
not  always  in  the  same  place,  and  never  in  the  same  degree  ;  even 
the  holy  worship  of  God,  religion,  through  the  wickedness  of  men, 
has  had  its  marches.  Nor  is  man  alone  the  subject  of  alteration 
and  vicissitude  ;  but  the  earth  itself  is  sometimes  dry  land,  and 
sometimes  overwhelmed  with  waters  ;  and  a  fruitful  land  has  been 
turned  into  barrenness  for  the  wickedness  of  them  that  dwell 
therein.  AlF  sublunaries  being  in  continual  motion,  little  know- 
ledge in  history  will  convince  us,  that  persons,  families,  countries, 
and  nations,  have  alternately  fallen  from  great  wealth,  honour,  and 
power,  to  poverty  and  contempt,  and  to  the  very  dregs  of  slavery. 
We  must  look  a  long  way  back  to  find  the  Romans  giving  laws  to 
nations,  and  their  consuls  bringing  kings  and  princes  bound  in 
chains  to  Rome  in  triumph  ;  to  see  men  go  to  Greece  for  wisdom, 
or  Ophir  for  gold  ;  when  now  nothing  remains  but  a  poor  paper 
remembrance  of  their  former  condition. 

It  would  be  an  unspeakable  advantage,  both  to  the  public  and 
private,  if  men  would  consider  that  great  truth,  that  no  man  is 
wise  or  safe,  but  he  that  is  honest.  All  I  have  designed  is  peace 
to  my  country  ;  and  may  England  enjoy  that  blessing  when  I  shall 
have  no  more  proportion  in  it  than  what  my  ashes  make  ! 

(From  A  Discourse  of  War.) 


THE  ABSENCE  OF  THE  QUEEN 

My  heart  was  never  broken  till  this'  day,  that  I  hear  the  Queen 
goes  away  so  far  off,  whom  1  have  followed  so  many  years  with  so 
great  love  and  desire,  in  so  many  journeys,  and  am  now  left  behind 
her  in  a  dark  prison  all  alone.  While  she  was  yet  nigher  at  hand, 
that  I  might  hear  of  her  once  in  two  or  three  days,  my  sorrows 
were  the  less  :  but  even  now  my  heart  is  cast  into  the  depth  of  all 
misery.  1,  that  was  wont  to  behold  her  riding  like  Alexander, 
hunting  like  Diana,  walking  like  Venus,  the  gentle  wind  blowing 
her  fair  hair  about  her  pure  cheeks,  like  a  nymph,  sometime 
sitting  in  the  shade  like  a  goddess,  sometime  singing  like  an 
angel,  sometime  playing  like  Orpheus  ;  behold  the  sorrow  of  this 


538  ENGLISH  PROSE 


world  !  once  amiss  hath  bereaved  me  of  all.  O  glory,  that  only 
shineth  in  misfortune,  what  is  become  of  thy  assurance  !  all  wounds 
have  scars,  but  that  of  fantasy  ;  all  affections  their  relenting,  but 
that  of  womankind.  Who  is  the  judge  of  friendship  but  adversity, 
or  when  is  grace  witnessed  but  in  offences  ?  There  were  no 
divinity  but  by  reason  of  compassion  ;  for  revenges  are  brutish 
and  mortal.  All  those  times  past,  the  loves,  the  sighs,  the  sorrows, 
the  desires,  can  they  not  weigh  down  one  frail  misfortune  ?  Can- 
not one  drop  of  gall  be  hidden  in  so  great  heaps  of  sweetness  ? 
I  may  then  conclude,  spes  ct  forfinii,  valete.  She  is  gone  in 
whom  I  trusted,  and  of  me  hath  not  one  thought  of  mercy,  nor 
any  respect  of  that  that  was.  Do  with  me  now  therefore  what 
you  list.  I  am  more  weary  of  life  than  they  are  desirous  I  should 
perish,  which  if  it  had  been  for  her,  as  it  is  by  her,  I  had  been  too 
happily  born. 

(From  A  Letter  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil.) 


THOMAS    LODGE 


[Thomas  Lodge,  born  about  1556  at  West  Ham,  was  the  son  of  a  grocer 
in  the  city,  afterwards  Lord  Mayor,  in  whose  will  however  he  found  no 
mention.  He  was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Oxford,  and  at  Lincoln's 
Inn.  His  first  publication,  provoked  and  afterwards  answered  by  Gosson, 
the  Defence  of  Poetry,  Music,  and  Stage-plays  (1579-80)  was  prohibited  by 
authority.  Some  four  or  five  years  later  he  seems  to  have  entered  upon  a 
series  of  journeys,  partly  buccaneering  expeditions,  on  one  of  which  he  con- 
trived to  compose  his  well-known  work,  Rosalynde,  Euphues  Golden  Legacy 
(1590).  During  the  intervals,  and  probably  for  some  years  following,  he 
inhabited  Bohemia  in  London,  producing  both  prose  and  verse  for  the 
booksellers,  and  plays  for  the  stage,  and  enjoying  scant  personal  repute.  In 
his  later  years — perhaps  from  1596  onwards,  when  a  publication  of  his  is 
dated  from  Low  Leyton,  he  practised  medicine,  in  which  he  is  said  to  have 
graduated  at  Avignon.  His  non  -  professional  writings  were  now  principally 
translations  from  the  classics.  In  1616  he  was  again  abroad  ;  but  he  died 
in  London,  of  the  plague,  in  1625.  His  works  are  still  uncollected  and  in 
part  difficult  of  access.  ] 

It  is  futile  to  seek  in  the  remains  of  a  writer  such  as  Lodge 
for  the  traces  of  a  style  peculiar  to  the  man,  who  seems  to 
have  been  innocent  of  any  uneasy  pretence  to  originality  of 
manner.  The  work  of  his  pen,  should  it  at  any  time  prove  possible 
to  marshal  in  consecutive  order  its  disjecta  membra^  would  possibly 
prove  all  the  more  instructive,  as  a  collective  illustration  of  the 
literary  history  of  his  age.  He  was  a  man  of  e.xtremely  varied 
experience  both  in  and  outside  the  world  of  letters  of  which  he 
claimed  the  freedom  ;  and,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  he  fell  from 
"books  to  arms,"  as  easily  as  he  exchanged  Justinian  for  Galen, 
or  Alsatia  for  the  Spanish  Main.  In  his  Defence  of  Stage-plays 
and  in  his  Alarm  against  Usurers^  dedicated  without  any 
particular  relevancy  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  he  had  but  journalised 
on  themes  with  which  he  could  claim  something  more  than  a 
bowing  acquaintance.  When,  while  accompanying  Captain  Clarke 
on  his  patriotic  raid  upon  the  Canaries,  he  composed  his  Rosalynde^ 

539 


540  ENGLISH  PROSE 


his  genius  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  suffered  a  sea-change. 
Nor  in  point  of  fact  does  he  in  his  dedication  lay  claim  to  any 
loftier  purpose  than  that  of  whiling  away  the  tedium  of  his  voyage. 
It  was  accordingly  almost  a  matter  of  course  that,  like  Greene, 
with  whom  as  a  playwright  he  worked  in  common  on  at  least 
one  occasion,  Lodge  should,  as  a  novelist,  follow  the  fashion  of 
his  times  both  in  the  Euphuism  of  his  style,  of  which  the  purple 
patches  are  inserted  without  more  ado  than  are  the  pretty 
lyrical  intermezzos  which  form  so  attractive  a  feature  of  his 
book,  and  in  the  Arcadian  surroundings  of  its  story.  (Sidney's 
Arcadia  was  first  printed  in  the  same  year  as  Rosalynde.)  For 
the  rest,  however  judgments  may  differ  as  to  the  intrinsic 
merits  of  the  novel,  it  has  beyond  doubt  plot  enough  to  account 
for  its  popularity,  although  some  of  this  may  have  been  due  to 
other  elements  than  those  which  in  Mr.  Grant  White's  opinion 
secured  the  success  of  the  stage  Rosalind's  beard,  cloak,  and 
jack-boots.  For  Lodge's  novel,  besides  possessing  a  plot 
which  may  in  a  large  measure  be  called  its  own,  is  neither  in 
its  characters  nor  in  its  incidents  altogether  conventional ;  and 
if  Shakespeare  invented  the  melancholy  Jacques,  and  at  all 
events  the  mellower  phase  of  Touchstone,  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  cast  in  old  Adam,  one  of  the  characters  of  his  original.  It  is 
impossible  not  to  do  Lodge  the  justice  of  quoting  the  passus  of 
the  wrestling  bout.  Mr.  Grant  White  may  again  be  correct  in 
surmising  that  this  scene  was  a  stage  success  on  its  own  account  ; 
but  as  a  literary  experiment,  since  only  too  often  repeated,  it  must 
be  described  as  both  fresh  and  spirited. 

When  not  aboard  ship.  Lodge  in  his  rather  protracted  salad 
days  seems  to  have  been  ready  to  set  his  hand  to  what  was 
next  to  it.  Of  his  extant  prose-works,  the  Delectable  History  of 
Forhonius  and  Prisceria  is  a  very  ordinary  love -pamphlet,  not 
yet  far  advanced  in  Euphuism ;  while  The  Life  of  Robin  the  Devil^ 
and  The  Life  and  Death  of  William  Longbeard,  the  most  famous 
and  ivitty  English  Traitor^  born  in  the  City  of  London,  may  be 
surmised  to  be  old  "histories"  newly  dressed  up.  A  more 
ambitious  piece  of  literary  work  is  the  prettily  named  tale,  A 
Margarite  {i.e.  pearl)  of  Ametica,  which  the  author  professes 
to  have  discovered  in  its  original  Spanish,  in  a  Jesuit  library 
visited  by  him  during  his  expedition  with  Cavendish,  and  to 
have  translated  on  his  passage  through  the  Magellan  Straits. 
Although    there    is    plenty   of   ornate    description    in    the    book, 


THOMAS  LODGE  541 


some  uncertainty  remains  as  to  its  Spanish  origin.  About 
the  turn  of  the  century,  "  Thomas  Lodge,  Doctor  in  Physics," 
having  apparently  exhausted  his  original  and  more  especially  his 
favourite  lyric  vein,  turned  to  professional  research  and  to  transla- 
tion from  the  Classics,  then  as  now,  the  chosen  solace  of  men  of 
letters  who  are,  or  who  wish  to  become,  absolutely  respectable. 
His  resolution,  he  says  in  the  Preface  to  his  Seneca,  had  "too 
long  time  surfeited  upon  time-pleasing  ; "  yet  on  the  whole  his 
chief  vocation  as  an  author  was  to  please  his  times. 


A.  W.  Ward. 


A  RAKE'S   PROGRESS 

Thus,  thus,  alas  !  the  father  before  his  eyes,  and  in  his  elder 
years,  beholdeth  as  in  a  mirror  the  desolation  of  his  own  house, 
and  hearing  of  the  profuseness  of  his  ungracious  son  calleth  him 
home,  rebuketh  him  of  his  error,  and  requesteth  an  account  of  his 
money  misspended.  He  (taught  and  instructed  sufficiently  to 
colour  his  folly  by  his  ungodly  mistress,  and  cursed  misleader)  at 
his  return  to  his  father  maketh  show  of  all  honesty,  so  that  the 
old  man,  led  by  natural  affection,  is  almost  persuaded  that  the 
truth  is  untruth  ;  yet  remembering  the  privy  conveyance  of  his 
youthly  years,  and  deeming  them  incident  to  his  young  son,  he 
discourseth  with  him  thus  : 

O,  my  son  !  if  thou  knewest  thy  father's  care,  and  wouldest 
answer  it  with  thy  well  doing,  I  might  have  hope  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  my  progeny,  and  thou  be  a  joy  to  my  aged  years. 
But,  I  fear  me,  the  eyes  of  thy  reason  are  blinded,  so  that  neither 
thy  father's  tears  may  persuade  thee,  nor  thine  own  follies  laid 
open  before  thine  eyes  reduce  thee,  but  that  my  name  shall 
cease  in  thee,  and  other  covetous  underminers  shall  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  my  long  labours.  How  tenderly,  good  boy,  in  thy 
mother's  life  wast  thou  cherished  !  How  dearly  beloved  !  How 
well  instructed  !  Did  I  ever  entice  thee  to  vice  ?  Nay,  rather 
enforced  I  thee  not  to  love  virtue  ?  And  whence  cometh  it  that 
all  these  good  instructions  are  swallowed  up  by  one  sea  of  thy 
folly  .''  In  the  universities  thy  wit  was  praised,  for  that  it  was 
pregnant  ;  thy  preferment  great,  for  that  thou  deservedst  it  ;  so 
that,  before  God,  I  did  imagine  that  my  honour  should  have 
beginning  in  thee  alone,  and  be  continued  by  thy  offspring  ;  but 
being  by  me  brought  to  the  Inns  of  Court,  a  place  of  abode  for 
our  English  gentry,  and  the  only  nursery  of  true  learning,  I  find 
thy  nature  quite  altered,  and  where  thou  first  shouldest  have 
learnt  law,  thou  art  become  lawless.  Thy  modest  attire  is 
542 


THOMAS  LODGE  543 


become  immodest  bravery  ;  thy  shamefast  seemliness  to  shameless 
impudency  ;  thy  desire  of  learniii},'^  to  loitering  love  ;  and  from  a 
sworn  soldier  of  the  muses,  thou  art  become  a  master  in  the 
university  of  love  ;  and  where  thou  knowest  not  any  way  to  get, 
yet  fearcst  thou  not  outrageously  to  spend.  Report,  nay,  true 
report,  hath  made  me  privy  to  many  of  thy  escapes^  which  as  a 
father  though  I  cover,  yet  as  a  good  father  tenderly  I  will  rebuke. 
Thy  portion  by  year  from  me  is  standing  forty  pounds,  which  of 
itself  is  sufficient  both  to  maintain  you  honestly  and  cleanly  : 
besides  this,  you  are  grown  in  arrearages  within  this  two  years  no 
less  than  100  pound,  which,  if  thou  wilt  look  into,  is  sufficient  for 
three  whole  years  to  maintain  an  honest  family.  Now,  how  hast 
thou  spent  this  ?  forsooth  in  apparel  ;  and  that  is  the  aptest 
excuse,  and  lavishness  in  that  is* as  discommendable  as  in  any 
other.  If  in  apparel  thou  pass  thy  bounds,  what  make  men  of 
thee  ?  A  prodigal  proud  fool  ;  and  as  many  fashions  as  they  see 
in  thee,  so  many  frumps  will  they  afford  thee,  counting  thee  to 
carry  more  bombast  about  thy  body,  than  wit  in  thy  head.  Nay, 
my  son,  muse  not  upon  the  world,  for  that  will  but  flatter  thee, 
but  weigh  the  judgment  of  God,  and  let  that  terrify  thee  ;  and  let 
not  that  which  is  the  cause  of  pride  ?iussell  thee  up  as  an  instru- 
ment of  God's  wrathful  indignation.  What  account  reaps  a  young 
man  by  brave  attire  ?  Of  the  wise  he  is  counted  riotous  ;  of  the 
flatterer  a  man  easily  to  be  seduced  ;  and  where  one  will  afford 
thee  praise,  a  thousand  will  call  thee  proud.  The  greatest  reward 
of  thy  bravery  is  this, — ^"See,  yonder  goes  a  gallant  young 
gentleman."  And  count  you  this  praise  worth  ten  score  pounds  ? 
Truly,  son,  it  is  better  to  be  accounted  witty  than  wealthy,  and 
righteous  than  rich  :  praise  lasteth  for  a  moment  that  is  grounded 
on  shows,  and  fame  remaineth  after  death  that  proceedeth  of  good 
substance.  Choose  whether  thou  wilt  be  infamous  with  Eros- 
tratus,  or  renowned  with  Aristides  ;  by  one  thou  shalt  bear  the 
name  of  sacrilege,  by  the  other  the  title  of  just  :  the  first  may 
flatter  thee  with  similitude,  the  last  will  honour  thee  indeed,  and 
more  when  thou  art  dead.  Son,  son,  give  ear  to  thy  father's  in- 
6tructions,  and  ground  them  in  thy  heart  ;  so  shalt  thou  be  blessed 
^mong  the  elders,  and  be  an  eyesore  unto  diy  enemies. 

(From  An  Alarutn  against  Usurers.) 


544  ENGLISH  PROSE 


THE  WRESTLING   MATCH 

But  leaving  him  (Rosader)  so  desirous  of  the  journey  :  (turn  we) 
to  Torismond  the  king  of  France,  who,  having  by  force  banished 
Gerismond  their  lawful  king  that  lived  as  an  outlaw  in  the  Forest 
of  Arden,  sought  now  by  all  means  to  keep  the  French  busied 
with  all  sports  that  might  breed  their  content.  Amongst  the  rest 
he  had  appointed  this  solemn  tournament,  whereunto  he  in  most 
solemn  manner  resorted,  accompanied  with  the  twelve  peers  of 
France,  who  rather  for  fear  than  love  graced  him  with  the  show 
of  their  dutiful  favours  ;  to  feed  their  eyes,  and  to  make  the 
beholders  pleased  with  the  sight  of  most  rare  and  glistering  objects, 
he  had  appointed  his  own  daughter  Alinda  to  be  there,  and  the 
fair  Rosalynde  daughter  unto  Gerismond,  with  all  the  beautiful 
daniosels  that  were  famous  for  their  features  in  all  France.  Thus 
in  that  place  did  Love  and  War  triumph  in  a  sympathy  :  for  such 
as  were  martial,  might  use  their  lance  to  be  renowned  for  the 
excellence  of  their  chivalry  ;  and  such  as  were  amorous,  might 
glut  themselves  with  gazing  on  the  beauties  of  most  heavenly 
creatures.  I  As  every  man's  eye  had  his  several  survey,  and  fancy 
was  partial  in  their  looks,  yet  all  in  general  applauded  the 
admirable  riches  that  Nature  bestowed  on  the  face  of  Rosalynde  ; 
for  upon  her  cheeks  there  seemed  a  battle  between  the  Graces, 
who  should  bestow  most  favours  to  make  her  excellent.  The 
blush  that  gloried  Luna  when  she  kissed  the  shepherd  on  the  hills 
of  Latmos  was  not  tainted  with  such  a  pleasant  dye,  as  the 
vermilion  flourished  on  the  silver  hue  of  Rosalynde's  countenance  ; 
her  eyes  were  like  those  lamps  that  make  the  wealthy  covert  of 
the  heavens  more  gorgeous,  sparkling  favour  and  disdain ;  courteous 
and  yet  coy,  as  if  in  them  Venus  had  placed  all  her  amorets,  and 
Diana  all  her  chastity.  The  trammels  of  her  hair,  folded  in  a  caul 
of  gold,  so  far  surpassed  the  burnished  glister  of  the  metal,  as  the 
sun  doth  the  meanest  star  in  brightness  :  the  tresses  that  fold  in 
the  brows  of  Apollo  were  not  half  so  rich  to  the  sight  ;  for  in  her 
hair  it  seemed  love  had  laid  herself  in  ambush,  to  entrap  the 
proudest  eye  that  durst  gaze  upon  their  excellence  :  what  should 
I  need  to  decipher  her  particular  beauties,  when  by  the  censure  of 
all  she  was  the  paragon  of  all  earthly  perfection.  This  Rosalynde 
sat,  I   say,  with  Alinda  as  a  beholder  of  these  sports,  and  made 


THOMAS  LODGE  545 


the  cavaliers  crack  their  lances  with  more  courage  :  many  deeds 
of  knighthood  that  day  were  performed,  and  many  prizes  were 
given  according  to  their  several  deserts  :  at  last  when  the 
tournament  ceased,  the  wrestling  began  ;  and  the  Norman  pre- 
sented himself  as  a  challenger  against  all  comers  ;  but  he  looked 
like  Hercules  when  he  advanced  himself  against  Acheloiis,  so  that 
the  fury  of  his  countenance  amazed  all  that  durst  attempt  to 
encounter  with  him  in  any  deed  of  activity  :  till  at  last  a  lusty 
Franklin  of  the  country  came  with  two  tall  men  that  were  his  sons, 
of  good  lineaments  and  comely  personage  :  the  eldest  of  these, 
doing  his  obeisance  to  the  king,  entered  the  list  and  presented 
himself  to  the  Norman,  who  straight  coapt  with  him,  and  as  a  man 
that  would  triumph  in  the  glory  of  his  strength,  roused  himself 
with  such  fury,  that  not  only  he  gave  him  the  fall,  but  killed  him 
with  the  weight  of  his  corpulent  personage  :  which  the  younger 
brother  seeing,  leapt  presently  into  the  place,  and  thirsty  after  the 
revenge,  assailed  the  Norman  with  such  valour,  that  at  the  first 
encounter  he  brought  him  to  his  knees  ;  which  repulsed  so  the 
Norman,  that  recovering  himself,  fear  of  disgrace  doubling  his 
strength,  he  stepped  so  sternly  to  the  young  Franklin,  that  taking 
him  up  in  his  arms  he  threw  him  against  the  ground  so  violently, 
that  he  broke  his  neck,  and  so  ended  his  days  with  his  brother. 
At  this  unlocked  for  massacre,  the  people  murmured,  and  were 
all  in  a  deep  passion  of  pity.  But  the  Franklin,  father  unto  these, 
never  changed  his  countenance  ;  but  as  a  man  of  a  courageous  re- 
solution, took  up  the  bodies  of  his  sons  without  any  show  of  outward 
discontent.  All  this  while  stood  Rosader  and  saw  this  tragedy  ; 
who,  noting  the  undoubted  virtue  of  the  Franklin's  mind,  alighted 
off  from  his  horse,  and  presently  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  com- 
manded his  boy  to  pull  ofit"  his  boots,  making  him  ready  to  try  the 
strength  of  this  champion.  Being  furnished  as  he  would,  he  clapped 
the  Franklin  on  the  shoulder  and  said  thus:  "  Bold  yeoman,  whose 
sons  have  ended  the  term  of  their  years  with  honour,  for  that  I  see 
thou  scornest  fortune  with  patience,  and  twhartest  the  injury  of 
fate  with  content,  in  brooking  the  death  of  thy  sons  ;  stand  awhile 
and  either  see  me  make  a  third  in  their  tragedy,  or  else  revenge 
their  fall  with  an  honourable  triumph.  The  Franklin,  seeing  so 
goodly  a  gentleman  to  give  him  such  courteous  comfort,  gave  him 
hearty  thanks,  with  promise  to  pray  for  his  happy  success.  With 
that,  Rosader  vailed  bonnet  to  the  king,  and  lightly  leapt  within 
the  lists,  where,  noting  more  the  company  than  the  combatant,  he 
VOL.  I  z  :: 


546  ENGLISH  PROSE 


cast  his  eye  upon  the  troop  of  ladies  that  gHstered  there  hke  the 
stars  of  heaven,  but  at  last  Love,  willing  to  make  him  as  amorous 
as  he  was  valiant,  presented  him  with  the  sight  of  Rosalynde, 
whose  admirable  beauty  so  inveigled  the  eye  of  Rosader  that, 
forgetting  himself,  he  stood  and  fed  his  looks  on  the  favour  of 
Rosalynde's  face,  which  she  perceiving,  blushed  :  which  was  such 
a  doubling  of  her  beauteous  excellence,  that  the  bashful  red  of 
Aurora  at  the  sight  of  unacquainted  Phaeton  was  not  half  so 
glorious.  The  Norman,  seeing  this  young  gentleman  fettered  in 
the  looks  of  the  ladies,  drave  him  out  of  his  memento  with  a  shake 
by  the  shoulder  ;  Rosader  looking  back  with  an  angry  frown,  as 
if  he  had  been  awakened  from  some  pleasant  dream,  discovered 
to  all,  by  the  fury  of  his  countenance,  that  he  was  a  man  of  some 
high  thoughts.  But  when  they  all  noted  his  youth,  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  his  visage,  with  a  general  applause  of  favours,  they  grieved 
that  so  goodly  a  young  man  should  venture  in  so  base  an  action  ; 
but  seeing  it  were  to  his  dishonour  to  hinder  him  from  his  enter- 
prize,  they  wished  him  to  be  graced  with  the  palm  of  victory. 
After  Rosader  was  thus  called  out  of  his  memento  by  the  Norman, 
he  roughly  clapt  to  him  with  so  fierce  an  encounter,  that  they  both 
fell  to  the  ground,  and  with  the  violence  of  the  fall  were  forced  to 
breathe  ;  in  vvhifch  space  the  Norman  called  to  mind  by  all  tokens, 
that  this  was  he  whom  Sadadyne  had  appointed  him  to  kill  ;  which 
conjecture  made  him  stretch  every  limb,  and  try  every  sinew,  that 
working  his  death,  he  might  recover  the  gold  which  so  bountifully 
was  promised  him.  On  the  contrary  part,  Rosader  while  he 
breathed  was  not  idle,  but  still  cast  his  eye  upon  Rosalynde,  who 
to  encourage  him  with  a  favour,  lent  him  such  an  amorous  look, 
as  might  have  made  the  most  coward  desperate  ;  which  glance  of 
Rosalynde  so  fired  the  passionate  desires  of  Rosader,  that  turning 
to  the  Norman  he  ran  upon  him  and  braved  him  with  a  strong 
encounter  ;  the  Norman  received  him  as  valiantly,  that  there  was 
a  sore  combat,  hard  to  judge  on  whose  side  fortune  would  be 
prodigal.  At  last  Rosader,  calling  to  mind  the  beauty  of  his  new 
mistress,  the  fame  of  his  father's  honours,  and  the  disgrace  that 
should  fall  to  his  house  by  his  misfortune,  roused  hiniself  and  threw 
the  Norman  against  the  ground,  falling  upon  his  chest  with  so 
willing  a  weight,  that  the  Norman  yielded  Nature  her  due,  and 
Rosader  the  victory.  The  death  of  this  champion,  as  it  highly 
contented  the  P'ranklin  as  a  man  satisfied  with  revenge,  so  it  drew 
the  king  and  all  the  peers  into  a  great  admiration,  that  so  young 


Thomas  lodge  547 


years  and  so  beautiful  a  personage,  should  contain  such  martial 
excellence  :  but  when  they  knew  him  to  be  the  youngest  son  of 
Sir  John  of  Bordeaux,  the  king  rose  from  his  seat  and  embraced 
him,  and  the  peers  entreated  him  with  all  favourable  courtesy, 
commending  both  his  valour  and  his  virtues,  wishing  him  to  go 
forward  in  such  haughty  deeds,  that  he  might  attain  to  the  glory 
of  his  father's  honourable  fortunes.  As  the  king  and  lords  graced 
him  with  embracing,  so  the  ladies  favoured  him  with  their  looks, 
especially  Rosalynde,  whom  the  beauty  and  valour  of  Rosader 
had  already  touched  ;  but  she  accounted  love  a  toy,  and  fancy  a 
momentary  passion,  that  as  it  was  taken  in  with  a  gaze,  might  be 
shaken  off  with  a  wink  ;  and  therefore  feared  not  to  dally  in  the 
flame,  and  to  make  Rosader  know  she  affected  him,  took  from  her 
neck  a  jewel,  and  sent  it  by  a  page  to  the  young  gentleman.  The 
prize  that  Venus  gave  to  Paris  was  not  half  so  pleasing  to  the 
Trojan,  as  this  gem  was  to  Rosader  ;  for  if  fortune  had  sworn  to 
make  him  sole  monarch  of  the  world,  he  would  rather  have  refused 
such  dignity,  than  have  lost  the  jewel  sent  him  by  Rosalynde. 

(From  Rosalynde.') 

EVENING  AND   MORNING   IN  ARDEN 

With  that  they  (Ganymede  and  Aliena)  put  their  sheep  into  the 
cotes,  and  went  home  to  her  friend  Corydon's  cottage,  Aliena  as 
merry  as  might  be,  that  she  was  thus  in  the  company  of  her 
Rosalynde  :  but  she,  poor  soul,  that  had  love  her  lode-star,  and 
her  thoughts  set  on  fire  with  the  flame  of  fancy,  could  take  no 
rest,  but  being  alone  began  to  consider  what  passionate  penance 
poor  Rosader  was  enjoined  to  by  love  and  fortune  :  that  at  last 
she  fell  into  this  humour  with  herself.  (Rosalynde  passionate 
alone.)  Ah  Rosalynde,  how  the  fates  have  set  down  in  their 
synod  to  make  thee  unhappy  :  for  when  fortune  hath  done  her 
worst,  then  love  comes  in  to  begin  a  new  tragedy  ;  she  seeks  to 
lodge  her  son  in  thine  eyes,  and  to  kindle  her  fires  in  thy  bosom, 
Beware  fond  girl,  he  is  an  unruly  guest  to  harbour  ;  for  cutting  in 
by  intreats,  he  will  not  be  thrust  out  by  force,  and  her  fires  are 
fed  with  such  fuel,  as  no  water  is  able  to  quench.  Seest  thou  not 
how  Venus  seeks  to  wrap  thee  in  her  labyrinth,  wherein  is 
pleasure  at  the  entrance,  but  within,  sorrows,  cares,  and  dis- 
content :    she  is  a  siren,  stop  thine  ears  at   her   melody;    and  a 


548  ENGLISH  PROSE 


basilisk,  shut  thine  eyes,  and  gaze  not  at  her  lest  thou  perish. 
Thou  art  now  placed  in  the  country  content,  where  are  heavenly 
thoughts,  and  mean  desires  :  in  those  lawns  where  thy  flocks  feed 
Diana  haunts  :  be  as  her  nymphs,  chaste,  and  enemy  to  love ;  for 
there  is  no  greater  honour  to  a  maid,  than  to  account  of  fancy  as 
a  mortal  foe  to  their  sex.  Daphne,  that  bonny  wench,  was  not 
turned  into  a  bay  tree,  as  the  poets  feign  ;  but,  for  her  chastity, 
her  fame  was'  immortal,  resembling  the  laurel  that  is  ever-green. 
Follow  thou  her  steps,  Rosalynde,  and  the  rather,  for  that  thou 
art  an  exile,  and  banished  from  the  court ;  whose  distress,  as  it  is 
appeased  with  patience,  so  it  would  be  renewed  with  amorous 
passions.  Have  mind  on  thy  fore-passed  fortunes,  fear  the  worst, 
and  entangle  not  thyself  with  present  fancies  ;  lest  loving  in  haste 
thou  repent  thee  at  leisure.  Ah,  but  yet,  Rosalynde,  it  is  Rosa- 
der  that  courts  thee ;  one,  who  as  he  is  beautiful,  so  he  is 
virtuous,  and  harboureth  in  his  mind  as  many  good  qualities,  as 
his  face  is  shadowed  with  gracious  favours  :  and  therefore  Rosa- 
lynde stoop  to  love,  lest  being  either  too  coy,  or  too  cruel, 
Venus  wax  wroth,  and  plague  thee  with  the  reward  of  disdain. 

Rosalynde  thus  passionate,  was  wakened  from  her  dumps  by 
Aliena,  who  said  it  was  \\vi\&  to  go  to  bed.  Corydon  swore  that 
was  true,  for  Charles'  wain  was  risen  in  the  north.  Whereupon 
each  taking  leave  of  other,  went  to  their  rest  all,  but  the  poor 
Rosalynde,  who  was  so  full  of  passions  that  she  could  not  possess 
any  content.  Well,  leaving  her  to  her  broken  slumbers,  expect 
what  was  performed  by  them  the  next  morning. 

The  sun  was  no  sooner  stepped  from  the  bed  of  Aurora,  but 
Aliena  was  wakened  by  Ganymede,  who  restless  all  night  had 
tossed  in  her  passions,  saying  it  was  then  time  to  go  to  the  field 
to  unfold  their  sheep.  Aliena  (that  spied  where  the  hare  was  by 
the  hounds,  and  could  see  day  at  a  little  hole)  thought  to  be 
pleasant  with  her  Ganymede,  and  therefore  replied  thus  :  "What, 
wanton  .''  the  sun  is  but  new  up,  and  as  yet  Iris'  riches  lie  folded 
in  the  bosom  of  Flora,  Phcebus  hath  not  dried  up  the  pearled 
dew,  and  so  long  Corydon  hath  taught  me,  it  is  not  fit  to  lead  the 
sheep  abroad,  lest,  the  dew  being  unwholesome,  they  get  the  rot  : 
but  now  see  I  the  old  proverb  true,  he  is  in  haste  whom  the  devil 
drives,  and  where  love  pricks  forward,  there  is  no  worse  death 
than  delay.  Ah,  my  good  page,  is  there  fancy  in  thine  eye,  and 
passions  in  thy  heart  ?  What,  hast  thou  wrapped  love  in  thy 
looks  1  and  set  all  thy  thoughts  on  fire  by  affection  ?     I  tell  thee, 


THOMAS  LODGE  549 


it  is  a  flame  as  hard  to  be  quenched  as  that  of  Etna.  But  Nature 
must  have  her  course,  women's  eyes  have  faculty  attractive  Hke 
the  jet,  and  retentive  hke  the  diamond  :  they  dally  in  the  delight 
of  fair  objects,  till  gazing  on  the  panthers  beautiful  skin,  repenting 
experience  tell  them  he  hath  a  devouring  paunch."  "  Come  on  " 
(quoth  Ganymede)  "  this  sermon  of  yours  is  but  a  subtilty  to  lie 
still  abed,  because  either  you  think  the  morning  cold,  or  else,  I 
being  gone,  you  would  steal  a  nap  :  this  shift  carries  no  palm, 
and  therefore  up  and  away.  And,  for  love,  let  me  alone,  I'll 
whip  him  away  with  nettles,  and  set  disdain  as  a  charm  to  with- 
stand his  forces  :  and  therefore  look  you  to  yourself,  be  not  too 
bold,  for  Venus  can  make  you  bend  ;  nor  too  coy,  for  Cupid  hath 
a  piercing  dart,  that  will  make  you  cry  peccavi.'"  "And  that  is 
it  "  (quoth  Aliena)  "  that  hath  raised  you  so  early  this  morning." 
And  with  that  she  slipped  on  her  petticoat,  and  start  up  :  and  as 
soon  as  she  had  made  her  ready,  and  taken  her  breakfast,  away 
go  these  two  with  their  bag  and  bottles  to  the  field,  in  more 
pleasant  content  of  mind,  than  ever  they  were  in  the  <;ourt  of 
Torismond. 

(From  the  Same.) 


ROBERT    GREENE 

[Robert  Greene  was  born  at  Norwich  about  1560,  and  educated  at  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  where  he  graduated  B.A.  in  1578.  After  travelling 
abroad  he  returned  to  Cambridge  in  1580,  and  graduated  M.A.  from  Clare 
Hall  in  1583.  In  the  same  year  he  came  up  to  London  and  published  his 
first  book.  In  1585,  when  he  was  incorporated  M..-^.  at  Oxford,  he  also 
describes  himself  as  a  student  of  medicine  ;  but  this  pursuit  was  not  carried  far 
by  him.  About  the  close  of  1585  he  married  the  daughter  of  a  Lincolnshire 
squire,  but  after  living  with  her  in  Norfolk  for  more  than  a  year,  he  abandoned 
wife  and  child  and  returned  to  London.  Here  his  celebrity  as  a  playwright,  in 
which  capacity  he  was  during  the  greater  part  of  his  career  regularly  employed 
by  the  Queen's  players,  and  as  a  writer  of  novels  and  other  prose  tracts,  rose 
very  high.  But  his  unbridled  pen  involved  him  in  many  quarrels,  even  after 
about  1590  it  had  taken  a  repentant  turn.  He  died  3rd  September  1592,  in 
abject  poverty.] 

When  in  the  year  1580  Greene  returned  to  Cambridge  from 
his  travels  in  Italy,  Spain,  and  other  foreign  lands,  he  found  that 
a  great  literary  event  had  taken  place  in  his  absence.  Euphues 
was  out,  and  in  the  blaze  of  its  first  fashionable  popularity. 
Greene,  in  whose  literary  life  the  spirit  of  zealous  emulation  was  a 
predominant  motive,  at  once  started  in  quest  of  similar  laurels  for 
himself  He  was,  he  tells  us,  already  satiated  with  the  dissipations 
in  which  he  and  other  "  wags  "  had  "  consumed  the  flower  of  their 
youth."  But  Elizabethan  poco-curante\^\Vi.  rarely  extended  itself  to 
recklessness  of  literary  fame  or  (as  again  in  Greene's  case,  who 
never  forgot  that  he  was  "  utriusque  academice  in  artibus  magisfer") 
even  of  the  most  ordinary  academical  distinctions.  Thus  in  1583 
there  appeared  the  First  Part  of  ^^ Mamillia^  a  Mirror  or  Lookifig- 
Glass  for  the  Ladies  of  England^  by  Robert  Greene,  a  Graduate  of 
Cambridge,"  with  a  preface,  appropriately  or  not,  addressed  to  the 
author's  gentlemen  readers.  In  title  as  in  most  other  respects  it 
is  a  fair  type  of  the  long  show  of  successors  which  it  was  to  draw 
after  it.  Greene  proved  by  his  first  narrative  essay  that  while 
clever  enough  to  reproduce  any  vein  betokening  originality,  he 
was  also  himself  original  enough  not  to  depend  altogether  upon 
the    whim    or    fashion    of   a    season.      Of   course,    although    the 

551 


552  ENGLISH  PROSE 


imitative  faculties  of  youth  are  vigorous,  the  tricks  of  such  a 
defiance  of  the  ordinary  laws  of  style  as  is  involved  in  Euphuism 
are  not  learnt  of  a  sudden  ;  and  MamiHia,  by  no  means  to  its 
disadvantage,  is  less  copiously  studded  with  unnatural  "  natural  " 
similes  than  some  at  least  of  the  author's  later  prose  works.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  scintillates  with  proverbs  and  proverbial  phrases 
"as  thick  as  motes  in  a  sunbeam."  But  although  this  love- 
pamphlet  appealed  to  the  "precious"  of  both  sexes,  its  success  was 
no  doubt  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  in  the  Romance  countries,  or 
of  his  own  mother-wit,  Greene  had  caught  the  art  of  putting  some- 
thing of  interest  into  a  story  as  a  story.  Indeed,  this  particular 
fiction  interested  even  the  author  himself,  so  that,  not  content  with 
reproducing  its  general  features  in  from  thirty  to  forty  later  tracts, 
he  composed  not  only  a  second  part  to  Mawillia.,  but  also  a  sup- 
plement to  this  second  part,  not  known  to  have  been  published  till 
after  his  death. 

After  this  debut^  Greene,  during  the  brief  years  of  activity 
allowed  to  him  by  his  evil  and  crapulous  genius,  cultivated  the  still 
rambling  and  undetermined  field  of  prose  fiction  with  more  dili- 
gence and  with  more  success  than  any  of  his  contemporaries  ; 
and  when  he  passed  away,  it  soon  began  to  lie  fallow  again. 
Whether  or  not  he  kept  in  his  locker  the  twin  hoods  to  which  he 
could  lay  claim  as  "  utriusque  academicB  in  artibiis  magister,'^  he 
rapidly  acquired  such  fame  as  an  author  of  plays  and  as  a  penner 
of  love  pamphlets,  "  that  who  for  that  trade  grown  so  ordinary 
about  London  as  Robin  Greene.  Young  yet  in  years,  though  old 
in  wickedness,  I  began  to  resolve  that  there  was  nothing  that  was 
profitable,"  and  in  short,  being  in  Vanity  Fair,  strove  to  flaunt  it 
with  the  worst  of  them. 

The  utterances  of  Robin,  Robert,  or  "  Roberto  "  over  the  husks 
on  which  in  the  last  period  of  his  career  he  was  prone  enough 
to  moralise,  must  from  a  biographical  point  of  view  be  taken  for 
what  they  are  worth.  But  the  want  of  tone  which  they  attest  is 
observable  in  his  earlier,  even  more  than  in  his  later,  writings  ;  for 
until  he  becomes  sorry  for  himself,  he  has,  in  point  of  fact,  nothing 
very  particular  to  say.  Thus,  in  his  prose  belonging  to  the  years 
1583-5,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  dialectical  element  overpowers  all 
others,  and  Euphuism  seems  about  to  surpass  itself  in  its  most 
ingenious  disciple — or  "  ape,"  in  Gabriel  Harvey's  ungainly  phrase. 

But  in  the  second  period  of  Greene's  literary  career,  from  his 
return  to  London  about  1587  till  near  the  close  of  his  career,  the 


ROBERT  GREENE  553 


high  pressure  under  which  he  wrote  was  manifestly  not  to  his 
disadvantage  as  an  author.  Although  he  worked  from  hand  to 
mouth,  what  he  turned  out  were  not  journeyman's  articles.  Nash 
afterwards  averred  of  Greene  that  in  a  night  and  a  day  he  could 
produce  a  prose  piece  such  as  would  cost  another  man  seven 
years,  "  and  glad  was  that  printer  that  might  be  blest  to  pay  him 
dear  for  the  very  dregs  of  his  wit."  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that, 
apart  from  dramatic  literature,  in  which  he  holds  a  place  proper  to 
himself  among  .Shakespeare's  contemporaries,  his  versatile  genius 
enabled  him  to  rival  the  two  most  popular  prose  writers  of  the  day, 
Lyly  and  Sidney,  in  their  own  respective  fields  ;  to  blend  their 
'  several  fascinations  ;  and  to  superadd  inimitable  touches  of  his  own 
in  his  suggestions  of  country-side  scenery  and  of  women  suited  to 
such  sweet  surroundings.  These  fabrics  of  light  texture  and  varie- 
gated hue  his  fertile  fancy  flung  upon  the  market  in  quick  succes- 
sion, setting  them  forth  with  the  aid  of  a  fluent  though  not  profound 
scholarship,  greatly  approving  itself  to  contemporary  taste. 

Among  these,  Penelope's  Web,  an  ingenious  collection  of  tales 
illustrative  of  the  chief  feminine  virtues,  including  silence,  was  rapidly 
succeeded  by  Euphues'  Censiire  to  Philaiitiis,  in  title  pretending  to  a 
direct  connexion  with  Lyly's  book,  but  in  fact  a  kind  of  Trenftvner- 
one  between  Greek  and  Trojan  lords  and  ladies,  and  chiefly  notable 
as  having  furnished  Shakespeare,  whose  observant  eye  Greene's 
anathema  failed  to  ward  off,  with  a  hint  or  so  for  Troilus  afid  Cres- 
sida.  But  neither  on  this,  nor  on  Pcrimedes  the  Blacksmith,  to  the 
pleasant  framework  of  which  Peele,  when  he  wrote  The  Old  Ulves' 
Tale,  may  have  been  no  stranger,  is  it  possible  to  dwell  in  preference 
to  Pandosto,  the  Triumph  of  Time,  otherwise  known  as  The  History 
0/  Dorastus  and  Faivnia.  Shakespeare  set  his  nets  with  no  uncer- 
tain instinct  when  he  went  out  poaching  in  the  daylight  ;  and  this 
story  of  Greene's,  while  comparatively  free  from  the  usual  rhetorical 
paraphernalia,  breathes  the  true  pastoral  fragrance  which  survived 
even  in  Coleridge's  later  adaptation,  and  in  its  chief  female 
character  reaches  the  height  of  the  gamut  on  which  it  was  given  to 
Greene  to  play, — the  note  of  motherhood.  For  Greene's  books  are 
full  of  charming  women,  a  sisterhood  in  whom,  as  Mr.  Symonds 
happily  says,  "  the  innocence  of  country  life,  unselfish  love,  and 
maternity,  are  touched  with  delicate  and  feeling  tenderness." 

Menaphon,  although  equipped  with  a  sub-title  fathering  this 
book  also  upon  Euphues,  was  in  truth  a  direct  challenge  to  the 
popularity  of  Sidney's  Arcadia,  published  about  a  year  earlier. 


554 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


Although  not  his    first,   it  proved   Greene's    most  sustained   and 
successful   attempt  to  clothe   chivalrous   sentiment  in  the  fashion- 
able shepherd's   weeds,  trimmed  with  the   inevitable   Euphuistic 
garniture.      A  curtailed  specimen  of  an  Arcadian  wit-combat  in 
which  Samela  (whose  name  is  of  course  intended  to  recall  Sidney's 
Pamela)  plays  the  chief  part,  is  given  below  ;  there  is  no  room  for 
the  full  context  of  love-making.     This  in  its  turn  is  too  copious  to 
be  wholly  artificial,  and  is  wound  up  at  the  close  with  the  con- 
scientiousness of  one  of  Miss  Burney's  best  tea-table  romances. 
Moreover,  Greene  had  a  sureness  of  tact  which  not  unfrequently 
accompanies   rapidity   of  workmanship ;    and   thus   while    in   his 
eagerness  to  please  his  public  he  followed  his  exemplars  with  facile 
flexibility,  he  was   also   too  quickwitted   to  fall   into  the  favourite 
fault   of  an    imitator  and  exaggerate  their  peculiarities.       While 
celebrated  as  a  raffineiir  de  V Anglais  by  the  side  of  Lyly  himself, 
he  is  fain  to  subordinate  the  airs  and  graces  of  his  speech  to  the 
common  human  interests  concerned  in  his  discourse,  and,  in  com- 
parison with  the  author  of  the  English  Arcadia^  strains  the  simple 
machinery  rather  less  than  more  perceptibly  to  its  artificial  uses.     It 
was  this  elasticity  which  enabled  him  to  write  so  easily  and  so  much, 
and  which,  indeed,  enabled  him  to  go  straight  enough  to  his  point, 
when  he  had  a  definite  purpose  in  view,  such  as  that  of  writing  down 
the  Pope  and  the   King  of  Spain,  or  exposing  in  a  long  series  of 
tracts  the  wiles  of  London  "  cony-catchers  of  both  sexes."     The 
same  effective  directness  of  manner  marks  the  last  series  of  his 
productions,  which,  whatever  may  be  the  precise  historical  value  of 
their  details,  are  autobiographical  in  intention,  and  of  which  the  best 
known   is  the   notorious   Groatsworth  of  Wit,  published  after  his 
death  by  a  loyal  but  indiscreet  friend.     Its  budget  of  personahties 
addressed,  partly  in  sorrow  to  his  associates  not  yet  snatched  from 
the  burning,  partly  in  anger  to  the  chief  rival  of  his  unregenerate 
labours,  has,  unfortunately,  helped  to  cloud  his  fame.      After  its 
brief   heyday  had   passed,   it   never  extended  beyond   a   limited 
circle  ;  so  that,  as  Ben  Jonson  says,  it  became  a  safe  thing  to  steal 
from  Greene's  works,  which  had  certainly  not  been  the  case  in  his 
lifetime.      Now  that,  thanks  to  the  editor  of  the  Hiith  Library, 
Greene  is  once  more  read  as  a  prose-writer,  the  fact  is  revealed 
that,  during  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life,  the  English  novel 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  maintained  an   active  existence,  which 
after  his  death  was  soon  overwhelmed  by  another  literary  growth 
of  superior  strength  and  luxuriance.  A.   W.   Ward. 


ITALIAN   SUITORS 

And  therefore,  having  obtained  leave  of  the  Duchess,  [MamilHa] 
came  home  in  haste  [from  the  Duke's  court  at  Venice]  to  her 
fathers  house  in  Padua,  where  she  had  not  remained  long,  before 
divers  young  gentlemen,  drawn  by  the  passing  praise  of  her 
perfection  which  was  bruited  abroad  through  all  the  city,  repaired 
thither,  all  in  general  hoping  to  get  the  goal,  and  every  one  parti- 
cularly persuading  himself  to  have  as  much  as  any,  wherewith 
to  deserve  her  love  ;  so  that  there  was  no  feather,  no  fangle^  gem 
nor  jewel,  ouch  nor  ring  left  behind,  which  might  make  them 
seemly  in  her  sight ;  yea,  some  were  so  curious  no  doubt,  as 
many  Italian  gentlemen  are,  which  would  even  correct  Nature, 
where  they  thought  she  was  faulty  in  defect  ;  for  their  narrow 
shoulders  must  have  a  quilted  doublet  of  a  large  size  ;  their  thin 
body  must  have  a  coat  of  the  Spanish  cut  ;  their  crooked  legs, 
a  side-slop ;  their  small  shanks,  a  bombast  hose,  and  their  dis- 
sembling mind,  two  faces  in  a  hood  ;  to  wax  with  the  moon  and 
ebb  with  the  sea  ;  to  bear  both  fire  and  water,  to  laugh  and  weep 
all  with  one  wind. 

Now  amongst  all  this  courtly  crew,  which  resorted  to  the  house 
of  Gonsaga,  there  was  a  gentleman  called  Pharicles,  a  youth  of 
wonderful  wit  and  no  less  wealth,  whom  both  nature  and  experi- 
ence had  taught  the  old  proverb  as  perfect  as  his  Paier-noster, 
He  that  cannot  dissemble  cannot  live  ;  which  sentence  is  so 
surely  settled  in  the  minds  of  men,  as  it  may  very  well  be  called 
in  question,  whether  it  belong  unto  them  as  an  inseparable 
accident,  or  else  is  engrafted  by  nature  and  so  fast  bred  by  the 
bone  as  it  will  never  out  :  for  they  will  have  the  cloth  to  be  good, 
though  the  lining  be  rotten  rags  ;  and  a  fine  dye,  though  a  coarse 
thread  :  their  words  must  be  as  smooth  as  oil,  though  their  hearts 
be  as  rough  as  a  rock  ;  and  a  smiling  countenance  in  a  frowning 
mind.     This  Pharicles,  I  say,  fair  enough,  but  not  faithful  enough, 

555 


556  ENGLISH  PROSE 


(a  disease  in  men,  I  will  not  say  incurable),  craving  altogether  to 
crop  the  buds  of  her  outward  beauty,  and  not  the  fruits  of  her 
inward  bounty  ;  forced  rather  by  the  lust  of  the  body,  than  enticed 
by  the  love  of  her  virtue  ;  thought  by  the  gloze  of  his  painted 
show  to  win  the  substance  of  her  perfect  mind,  under  his  side 
clothes  to  cover  his  claws,  with  the  cloak  of  courtesy  to  conceal 
his  curiosity.  For  as  the  birds  cannot  be  enticed  to  the  trap,  but 
by  a  stale  of  the  same  kind,  so  he  knew  well  enough,  that  she, 
whose  mind  was  surely  defenced  with  the  rampart  of  honesty, 
must  of  necessity  have  the  onset  given  by  civility.  He  therefore, 
framing  a  sheep's  skin  for  his  wolfs  back,  and  putting  on  a 
smooth  hide  over  his  panther's  paunch,  used  first  a  great  gravity 
in  his  apparel,  and  no  less  demureness  in  his  countenance  and 
gesture,  with  such  a  civil  government  of  his  affections,  as  that  he 
seemed  rather  to  court  unto  Diana,  than  vow  his  service  unto 
Venus.  This  gentleman  being  thus  set  in  order,  wanted  nothing 
but  opportunity  to  reveal  his  mind  to  his  new  mistress,  hoping 
that  if  time  would  minister  place  and  occasion,  he  would  so 
reclaim  her  with  his  feigned  eloquence,  as  she  should  sease  upon 
his  lure,  and  so  cunningly  cloak  her  with  his  counterfeit  call,  as 
she  should  come  to  his  fist  :  for  he  thought  himself  not  to  have 
on  all  his  armour,  unless  he  had  tears  at  command,  sighs,  sobs, 
prayers,  protestations,  vows,  pilgrimages,  and  a  thousand  false 
oaths  to  bind  every  promise. 


(From  Mamillia.) 


THE  CUPBEARER'S  DILEMMA:  WHETHER  TO 
POISON  THE   KING'S   GUEST,  OR  TO  VEX  THE  KING 

Ah,  Franion,  treason  is  loved  of  many,  .but  the  traitor  hated  of 
all ;  unjust  offences  may  for  a  time  escape  without  danger,  but 
never  without  revenge.  Thou  art  servant  to  a  king,  and  must 
obey  at  command  ;  yet,  Franion,  against  law  and  conscience,  it  is 
not  good  to  resist  a  tyrant  with  arms,  nor  to  please  an  unjust 
king  with  obedience.  What  shalt  thou  do  .-'  Folly  refused  gold, 
and  frenzy  preferment  ;  wisdom  seeketh  after  dignity,  and  counsel 
keepeth  for  gain.  Egistus  is  a  stranger  to  thee,  and  Pandosto 
thy  sovereign  :  thou  hast  little  cause  to  respect  the  one,  and 
oughtest   to  have  great   care   to   obey   the   other.      Think   this, 


ROBERT  GREENE  557 


Franion,  that  a  pound  of  gold  is  worth  a  tun  of  lead,  great  gifts 
are  little  gods,  and  preferment  to  a  mean  man  is  a  whetstone  to 
courage ;  there  is  nothing  sweeter  than  promotion,  nor  lighter 
than  report  :  care  not  then  though  most  count  thee  a  traitor,  so 
all  call  thee  rich.  Dignity,  Franion,  advanceth  thy  posterity,  and 
evil  report  can  but  hurt  thyself.  Know  this,  where  eagles  build, 
falcons  may  prey  ;  where  lions  haunt,  foxes  may  steal.  Kings 
are  known  to  command,  serv^ants  are  blameless  to  consent :  fear 
not  thou  then  to  lift  at  Egistus,  Pandosto  shall  bear  the  burden. 
Yea,  but,  Franion,  conscience  is  a  worm  that  ever  biteth,  but  never 
ceaseth  :  that  which  is  rubbed  with  the  stone  Galactites  will  never 
be  hot.  Hesh  dipped  in  the  Sea  ^geum  will  never  be  sweet  : 
the  herb  Trigion  being  once  bit  with  an  asp,  never  groweth  :  and 
conscience  once  stained  with  innocent  blood,  is  always  tied  to  a 
guilty  remorse.  Prefer  thy  content  before  riches,  and  a  clear 
mind  before  dignity :  so  being  poor,  thou  shalt  have  rich  peace, 
or  else  rich,  thou  shalt  enjoy  disquiet. 

(From  Pandosto^  the  Triumph  of  Time.) 


BELLARIA'S  BABE 

Yet  at  last  (seeing  his  noblemen  were  importunate  upon  him)  he 
(Pandosto)  was  content  to  spare  the  child's  life,  and  yet  to  put  it  to 
a  worse  death.  For  he  found  out  this  device,  that  seeing  (as  he 
thought)  it  came  by  fortune,  so  he  would  commit  it  to  the  charge 
of  Fortune,  and  therefore  caused  a  little  cock-boat  to  be  provided, 
wherein  he  meant  to  put  the  babe,  and  then  send  it  to  the  mercies 
of  the  seas,  and  the  destinies.  From  this  his  peers  in  no  wise 
could  persuade  him,  but  that  he  sent  presently  two  of  his  guard 
to  fetch  the  child  :  who  being  come  to  the  prison,  and  with  weep- 
ing tears  recounting  their  master's  message,  Bellaria  no  sooner 
heard  the  rigorous  resolution  of  her  merciless  husband,  but  she 
fell  down  in  a  swound,  so  that  all  thought  she  had  been  dead  ; 
yet  at  last  being  come  to  herself,  she  cried  and  screeched  out  in 
this  wise. 

"  Alas,  sweet  unfortunate  babe,  scarce  born,  before  envied  by 
fortune,  would  the  day  of  thy  birth  had  been  the  term  of  thy  life  : 
then  shouldest  thou  have  made  an  end  to  care,  and  prevented  tliy 
father's    rigour.       Thy   faults    cannot    yet    deserve    such    hateful 


558  ENGLISH  PROSE 


revenge,  thy  days  are  too  short  for  so  sharp  a  doom  ;  but  thy 
untimely  death  must  pay  thy  mother's  debts,  and  her  guiltless 
crime  must  be  thy  ghastly  curse.  And  shalt  thou,  sweet  Babe, 
be  committed  to  Fortune,  when  thou  art  already  spited  by  For- 
tune ?  Shall  the  seas  be  thy  harbour,  and  the  hard  boat  thy 
cradle  ?  Shall  thy  tender  mouth,  instead  of  sweet  kisses,  be 
nipped  with  bitter  storms  ?  Shalt  thou  have  the  whistling  winds 
for  thy  lullaby,  and  the  salt  sea  foam  instead  of  sweet  milk  ? 
Alas,  what  destinies  would  assign  such  hard  hap  ?  What  father 
would  be  so  cruel  ?  Or  what  gods  will  not  revenge  such  rigour  ? 
Let  me  kiss  thy  lips,  sweet  infant,  and  wet  thy  tender  cheeks  with 
my  tears,  and  put  this  chain  about  thy  little  neck,  that  if  fortune 
save  thee,  it  may  help  to  succour  thee.  Thus,  since  thou  must 
go  to  surge  in  the  gastful  seas,  with  a  sorrowful  kiss  I  bid  thee 
farewell,  and  I  pray  the  gods  thou  mayest  fare  well." 

Such,  and  so  great  was  her  grief,  that  her  vital  spirits  being 
suppressed  with  sorrow,  she  fell  again  down  into  a  trance,  having 
her  senses  so  sotted  with  care,  that  after  she  was  revived  yet  she 
lost  her  memory,  and  lay  for  a  great  time  without  moving,  as  one 
in  a  trance.  The  guard  left  her  in  this  perplexity,  and  carried 
the  child  to  the  king,  who,  quite  devoid  of  pity,  commanded  that 
without  delay  it  should  be  put  in  the  boat,  having  neither  sail  nor 
rudder  to  guide  it,  and  so  to  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea, 
and  there  left  to  the  wind  and  wave  as  the  destinies  please  to 
appoint.  The  very  shipmen,  seeing  the  sweet  countenance  of  the 
young  babe,  began  to  accuse  the  king  of  rigour,  and  to  pity  the 
child's  hard  fortune  :  but  fear  constrained  them  to  that  which 
their  nature  did  abhor  ;  so  that  they  placed  it  in  one  of  the  ends 
of  the  boat,  and  with  a  few  green  boughs  made  a  homely  cabin 
to  shroud  it  as  they  could  from  wind  and  weather  :  having  thus 
trimmed  the  boat,  they  tied  it  to  a  ship,  and  so  haled  it  into  the 
main  sea,  and  then  cut  in  sunder  the  cord  ;  which  they  had  no 
sooner  done,  but  there  arose  a  mighty  tempest,  which  tossed  the 
little  boat  so  vehemently  in  the  waves,  that  the  shipmen  thought 
it  could  not  continue  long  without  sinking,  yea  the  storm  grew  so 
great,  that  with  much  labour  and  peril  they  got  to  the  shore. 

(From  the  Same.) 


ROBERT  GREENE  SS9 


AN  ARCADIAN   WIT-COMBAT 

At  the  hour  appointed,  Menaphon  [the  shepherd  of  King 
Democles  of  Arcadia],  Carmela  [his  sister],  and  Samela  [a  ship- 
wrecked widow  from  Cyprus],  came  [to  a  gathering  of  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses]  when  all  the  rest  were  ready  making  merry. 
As  soon  as  word  was  brought,  that  Menaphon  came  with  his  new 
mistress,  all  the  company  began  to  murmur,  and  every  man  to 
prepare  his  eye  for  so  miraculous  an  object  ;  but  Pesana,  a  herds- 
man's daughter  of  the  same  parish,  that  long  had  loved  Menaphon, 
and  he  had  filled  her  brows  with  frowns,  her  eyes  with  fury,  and 
her  heart  with  grief :  yet  coveting  in  so  open  an  assembly,  as  well 
as  she  could,  to  hide  a  pad  in  the  straw,  she  expected  as  others 
did  the  arrival  of  her  new  corrival,  who  at  that  instant  came 
with  Menaphon  into  the  house.  No  sooner  was  she  entered  the 
parlour,  but  her  eyes  gave  such  a  shine,  and  her  face  such  a 
brightness,  that  they  stood  gazing  on  this  goddess  ;  and  she  un- 
acquainted, seeing  herself  among  so  many  unknown  swains,  dyed 
her  cheeks  with  such  a  vermilion  blush,  that  the  country  maids 
themselves  fell  in  love  with  this  fair  nymph,  and  could  not  blame 
Menaphon  for  being  over  the  shoes  with  such  a  beautiful  creature. 
Doron  jogged  Melicertus  on  the  elbow,  and  so  awaked  him  out  of 
a  dream  ;  for  he  was  deeply  drowned  in  the  contemplation  of  her 
excellency,  sending  out  volleys  of  sighs  in  remembrance  of  his 
old  love,  as  thus  he  sate  meditating  of  her  favour,  how  much  she 
resembled  her  that  death  had  deprived  him  of :  well,  her  welcome 
was  great  of  all  the  company,  and  for  that  she  was  a  stranger, 
they  graced  her  to  make  her  the  mistress  of  the  feast.  Menaphon, 
seeing  Samela  thus  honoured,  conceived  no  small  content  in  the 
advancing  of  his  mistress,  being  passing  jocund  and  pleasant  with 
the  rest  of  the  company,  insomuch  that  every  one  perceived  how 
the  poor  swain  fed  upon  the  dignities  of  his  mistress'  graces. 
Pesana  noting  this,  began  to  lower,  and  Carmela  winking  upon 
her  fellows,  answered  her  frowns  with  a  smile,  which  doubled  her 
grief;  for  women's  pains  are  more  pinching  if  they  be  girded  with 
a  frump,  than  if  they  be  galled  with  a  mischief.  Whiles  thus 
there  was  banding  bandying  of  such  looks,  as  every  one  im- 
ported as  much  as  an  impreso,  Samela,  willing  to  see  the 
fashion  of  these  country  young-frowes,  cast  her  eyes  abroad,  and 
in  viewing  every  face,  at  last  her  eyes  glanced  on  the  looks  of 


56o  ENGLISH  PROSE 


Melicertus  ;  whose  countenance  resembled  so  unto  her  dead  lord, 
that  as  a  woman  astonished  she  stood  staring  on  his  face,  but, 
ashamed  to  gaze  upon  a  stranger,  she  made  restraint  of  her  looks, 
and  so  taking  her  eye  from  one  particular  object,  she  sent  it 
abroad  to  make  general  survey  of  their  country  demeanours.  But 
amidst  all  this  gazing,  he  that  had  seen  poor  Menaphon,  how,  in- 
fected with  a  jealous  fury,  he  stared  each  man  in  the  face,  fearing 
their  eyes  should  feed  or  surfeit  on  his  mistress'  beauty  ;  if  they 
glanced,  he  thought  straight  they  would  be  rivals  in  his  loves  ;  if 
they  flatly  looked,  then  they  were  deeply  snared  in  affection  ;  if 
they  once  smiled  on  her,  they  had  received  some  glance  from 
Samela  that  made  them  so  malapert ;  if  she  laughed,  she  liked  ; 
and  at  that  he  began  to  frown  :  thus  sate  poor  Menaphon,  all 
dinner-while,  pained  with  a  thousand  jealous  passions,  keeping  his 
teeth  guarders  of  his  stomach,  and  his  eyes  watchful  of  his  loves. 
But  Melicertus,  half-impatient  of  his  new  conceived  thoughts, 
determined  to  try  how  the  damsel  was  brought  up,  and  whether 
she  was  as  wise  as  beautiful ;  he  therefore  began  to  break  silence 
thus ; — 

The  orgies  which  the  Bacchanals  kept  in  Thessaly,  the  feasts 
which  the  melancholy  Saturnists  founded  in  Danuby,  were  never 
so  qiiatted  with  silence,  but  in  their  festival  days  they  did  frolic 
amongst  themselves  with  many  pleasant  parleys  :  were  it  not  a 
shame,  then,  that  we  of  Arcadia,  famous  for  the  beauty  of  our 
nymphs,  and  the  amorous  roundelays  of  our  shepherds,  should 
disgrace  Pan's  holiday  with  such  melancholy  dumps.  Courteous 
country  swains,  shake  off  this  sobriety  ;  and,  seeing  we  have  in  our 
company  damsels  both  beautiful  and  wise,  let  us  entertain  them 
with  prattle,  to  try  our  wits,  and  tire  our  time.  To  this  they  all 
agreed  with  a  plaudit.  Then  quoth  Melicertus  :  "  By  your  leave 
since  1  was  first  in  motion,  I  will  be  first  in  question,  and  there- 
fore, new-come  shepherdess,  first  to  you!"  At  this  Samela 
blushed,  and  he  began  thus  : 

"  Fair  damsel,  when  Nereus  chatted  with  Juno,  he  had  pardon, 
in  that  his  prattle  came  more  to  pleasure  the  goddess  than  to 
ratify  his  own  presumption.  If  I,  mistress,  be  overbold,  forgive 
me  ;  I  question  not  to  offend,  but  to  set  time  free  from  tedious- 
ness.  Then,  gentle  shepherdess,  tell  me  :  if  you  should  be  trans- 
formed, from  the  anger  of  the  gods,  into  some  shape,  what 
creature  would  you  reason  to  be  in  form  ? "  Samela,  blushing  that 
she  was  the  first  that  was  boarded,  yet  gathered  up  her  crumbs. 


ROBERT  GREENE  561 


and    desirous    to  shew  her  pregnant  wit  (as    the  wisest  women 
be  ever  tickled  with  self  love)  made  him  this  answer  : 

"  Gentle  shepherd,  it  fits  not  strangers  to  be  nice,  nor  maidens 
too  coy,  lest  the  one  feel  the  weight  of  a  scoff,  the  other  the  fall 
of  a  fru))ip J  pithy  questions  are  mind's  whetstones,  and  by  dis- 
coursing in  jest,  many  doubts  are  deciphered  in  earnest  :  therefore 
you  have  forestalled  me  in  craving  pardon,  when  you  have  no 
need  to  feel  any  grant  of  pardon.  Therefore,  thus  to  your  question  : 
Daphne,  I  remember,  was  turned  to  a  bay-tree,  Niobe  to  a  flint, 
Lampetia  and  her  sisters  to  flowers,  and  sundry  virgins  to  sundry 
shapes  according  to  their  merits  ;  but  if  my  wish  might  serve  for 
a  metamorphosis,  I  would  be  turned  into  a  sheep."  "  A  sheep,  and 
why  so,  mistress  ?  "  "I  reason  thus,"  quoth  Samela,  "  my  supposi- 
tion should  be  simple,  my  life  quiet,  my  food  the  pleasant  plains 
of  Arcadia  and  the  wealthy  riches  of  Flora,  my  drink  the  cool 
streams  that  flow  from  the  concave  promontory  of  this  continent  ; 
my  air  should  be  clear,  my  walks  spacious,  my  thoughts  at  ease  ; 
and  can  there  none,  shepherd,  be  my  better  premisses  to  conclude 
my  reply,  than  these .'' "  "  But  have  you  no  other  allegations  to 
confirm  your  resolution?"  "Yes  sir,"  quoth  she,  "and  far 
greater."  "Then,  the  law  of  our  first  motion,"  quoth  he, 
"commands  you  to  repeat  them."  "Far  be  it,"  answered 
Samela,  "  that  I  should  not  do  of  free  will  anything  that  this 
pleasant  company  commands  ;  therefore,  thus  :  were  I  a  sheep, 
I  should  be  guarded  from  the  folds  with  jolly  swains,  such  as 
was  Luna's  love  on  the  hills  of  Latmos  ;  their  pipes  sounding 
like  the  melody  of  Mercury,  when  he  lulled  asleep  Argus : 
but  more,  when  the  damsels  tracing  along  the  plains,  should 
with  their  eyes  like  sun's  bright  beams,  draw  on  looks  to  gaze 
on  such  sparkling  planets  :  then,  weary  with  food,  should  I 
lie  and  look  on  their  beauties,  as  on  the  spotted  wealth  of  the 
richest  firmament  ;  I  should  listen  to  their  sweet  lays,  more  sweet 
than  the  sea-borne  sirens  :  thus,  feeding  on  the  delicacy  of  their 
features,  I  should  like  the  Tyrian  heifer  fall  in  love  with  Agenor's 
darling."  "Ay,  but,"  quoth  Melicertus,  "those  fair-faced  damsels 
oft  draw  forth  the  kindest  sheep  to  the  shambles."  "  And  what 
of  that,  sir,"  answered  Samela,  "  would  not  a  sheep,  so  long  fed 
with  beauty,  die  for  love  ?"  "If  he  die,"  quoth  Pesana,  "it  is 
more  kindness  in  beasts  than  constancy  in  men  :  for  they  die 
for  love,  when  larks  die  with  leeks." 

(From  Me?iaphon  {The  Resor/s  of  the  Shepherds).) 

VOL.  I  2  O 


562  ENGLISH  PROSE 


A   PARTHIAN   PRAYER 

To  those  gentlemen,  his  quondam  acquaintance,  that  spend  their 
wits  in  making  plays,  R.  G.  wisheth  a  better  exercise,  and 
wisdom  to  prevent  his  extremities. 

If  woeful  experience  may  move  you,  gentlemen,  to  beware,  or 
unheard-of  wretchedness  entreat  you  to  take  heed,  I  doubt  not 
but  you  will  look  back  with  sorrow  on  your  time  past,  and  en- 
deavour with  repentance  to  spend  that  which  is  to  come.  Wonder 
not  (for  with  thee  will  I  first  begin),  thou  famous  gracer  of 
tragedians,  that  Greene,  who  hath  said  with  thee,  like  the  fool  in 
his  heart,  There  is  no  God,  should  now  give  glory  unto  His  great- 
ness :  for  penetrating  is  His  power,  His  hand  lies  heavy  upon  me, 
He  hath  spoken  unto  me  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  I  have  felt 
He  is  a  God  that  can  punish  enemies.  Why  should  thy  excellent 
wit.  His  gift,  be  so  blinded,  that  thou  shouldst  give  no  glory  to  the 
Giver  ?  Is  it  pestilent  Machiavellian  policy  that  thou  hast  studied  ? 
O  peevish  folly  !  What  are  his  rules  but  mere  confused  mockeries, 
able  to  extirpate  in  small  time  the  generation  of  mankind  !  For 
if  Sic  volo,  sic  jtebeo,  hold  in  those  that  are  able  to  command,  and 
if  it  be  lawful  fas  et  nefas  to  do  anything  that  is  beneficial  :  only 
tyrants  should  possess  the  earth,  and  they,  striving  to  exceed  in 
tyranny,  should  each  to  other  be  a  slaughter- man  ;  till  the 
mightiest  outliving  all,  one  stroke  were  left  for  Death,  that  in  one 
age  man's  life  should  end.  The  brother  of  this  diabolical  atheism 
is  dead,  and  in  his  life  had  never  the  felicity  he  aimed  at ;  but  as 
he  began  in  craft,  lived  in  fear,  and  ended  in  despair.  Quayji 
iiiscrutabilia  stmt  Dei  judicia  !  This  murderer  of  many  brethren 
had  his  conscience  seared  like  Cain  ;  this  betrayer  of  him  tliat 
gave  his  life  for  him,  inherited  the  portion  of  Judas  ;  this  Apostata 
perished  as  ill  as  Julian  :  and  wilt  thou,  my  friend,  be  his  disciple  .'' 
Look  unto  me,  by  him  persuaded  to  that  liberty,  and  thou  shalt 
find  it  an  infernal  bondage.  I  know  the  least  of  my  demerits 
merit  this  miserable  death,  but  wilful  striving  against  known  truth, 
exceedeth  all  the  terrors  of  my  soul.  Defer  not  (with  me)  till  this 
last  point  of  extremity  ;.  for  little  knowest  thou  how  in  the  end 
thou  shalt  be  visited. 

With  thee  I  join  young  Juvenal,  that  biting  satirist,  that  lastly 
with  me  together  writ  a  comedy.     Sweet  boy,  might  I  advise  thee, 


ROBERT  GREENE  563 


be  advised,  and  get  not  many  enemies  by  bitter  words  :  inveigh 
against  vain  men,  for  thou  canst  do  it,  no  man  better,  no  man  so 
well ;  thou  hast  a  liberty  to  reprove  all,  and  none  more  ;  for  one 
being  spoken  to,  all  are  offended  ;  none  being  blamed,  no  man  is 
injured.  Stop  shallow  water  still  running,  it  will  rage ;  tread  on  a 
worm,  and  it  will  turn  :  then  blame  not  scholars  vexed  with  sharp 
hnes,  if  they  reprove  thy  too  much  liberty  of  reproof. 

And  thou,  no  less  deserving  than  the  other  two,  in  some  things 
rarer,  in  nothing  inferior  ;  driven  (as  myself)  to  extreme  shifts,  a 
little  have  I  to  say  to  thee  ;  and  were  it  not  an  idolatrous  oath,  I 
would  swear  by  sweet  St.  George,  thou  art  unworthy  better  hap, 
sith  thou  dependest  on  so  mean  a  stay.  Base-minded  men  all 
three  of  you,  if  by  my  misery  ye  be  not  warned  ;  for  unto  none  of 
you  (like  me)  sought  those  burs  to  cleave, — those  puppets,  I  mean, — 
that  speak  from  our  mouths, — those  antics  garnished  in  our  colours. 
Is  it  not  strange  that  I,  to  whom  they  all  have  been  beholden, — is 
it  not  like  that  you,  to  whom  they  all  have  been  beholden,- — shall 
(were  ye  in  that  case  that  I  am  now)  be  both  at  once  of  them 
forsaken  ?  Yes,  trust  them  not :  for  there  is  an  upstart  crow, 
beautified  with  our  feathers,  that  with  his  tiger'' s  heart  wrapt  in  a 
player's  hide,  supposes  he  is  as  well  able  to  bombast  out  a  blank- 
verse  as  the  best  of  you  :  and  being  an  al^solute  Johafines  fac- 
totum, is  in  his  own  conceit  the  only  Shakescene  in  a  country. 
Oh,  that  I  might  entreat  your  rare  wits  to  be  employed  in  more 
profitable  courses,  and  let  those  apes  imitate  your  past  excellence, 
and  never  more  acquaint  them  with  your  admired  inventions  !  I 
know  the  best  husband  of  you  all  will  never  prove  an  usurer,  and 
the  kindest  of  them  all  will  never  prove  a  kind  nurse  :  yet,  whilst 
you  may,  seek  you  better  masters  ;  for  it  is  pity  men  of  such  rare 
wits  should  be  subject  to  the  pleasures  of  such  rude  grooms. 

In  this  I  might  insert  two  more,  that  both  have  writ  against 
these  buckram  gentlemen ;  but  let  their  own  works  serve  to 
witness  against  their  own  wickedness,  if  they  persevere  to  main- 
tain any  more  such  peasants.  For  other  new-comers,  I  leave 
them  to  the  mercy  of  these  painted  monsters,  who  (I  doubt  not) 
will  drive  the  best  minded  to  despise  them  ;  for  the  rest,  it  skills 
not  though  they  make  a  jest  at  them. 

But  now  return  I  again  to  you  three,  knowing  my  misery  is  to 
you  no  news  ;  and  let  me  heartily  entreat  you  to  be  warned  by 
my  harms.  Delight  not  (as  I  have  done)  in  irreligious  oaths  ; 
for  from  the  blasphemer's  house  a  curse  shall  not  depart.     Despise 


564  ENGLISH  PROSE 


drunkenness,  which  wasteth  the  wit,  and  maketh  men  all  equal 
unto  beasts.  Fly  lust,  as  the  deathsman  of  the  soul,  and  defile 
not  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Abhor  those  epicures  whose 
loose  life  hath  made  religion  loathsome  to  your  ears  :  and  when 
ihey  soothe  you  with  terms  of  mastership,  remember /?^(^^r/'  Greene, 
whom  they  have  so  often  flattered,  perishes  now  for  want  of  com- 
fort. Remember,  gentlemen,  your  lives  are  like  so  many  lighted 
tapers,  that  are  with  care  delivered  to  all  of  you  to  maintain  : 
these  with  wind-puffed  wrath  may  be  extinguished,  which  drunk- 
enViess  put  out,  which  negligence  let  fall ;  for  man's  time  of  itself 
is  not  so  short,  but  it  is  more  shortened  by  sin.  The  fire  of  my 
light  is  now  at  the  last  snuff,  and,  for  want  of  wherewith  to  sustain 
it,  there  is  no  substance  left  for  life  to  feed  on.  Trust  not,  then 
( I  beseech  ye)  to  such  weak  stays  ;  for  they  are  as  changeable  in 
mind  as  in  many  attires.  Well,  my  hand  is  tired,  and  I  am 
forced  to  leave  where  I  would  begin  ;  for  a  whole  book  cannot 
contain  these  wrongs,  which  I  am  forced  to  knit  up  in  some  few 
lines  of  words. 

Desirous  that  you  should  live,  though 

himself  be  dyings 

Robert  Greene. 


(From  A  Groat' s-worth  of  Wit.") 


THOMAS    NASH 

[Thomas  Nash  or  Nashe  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  and  born  at  Lowes- 
toft in  1567.  In  his  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  year  he  entered  at  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  at  that  time  in  intellectual  activity  the  foremost  college 
in  the  university.  Here  he  resided  for  seven  years  "lacking  a  quarter," 
taking  his  B.A. ,  but,  for  some  undiscovered  reason,  not  his  M.A. ,  degree. 
In  1589  he  was  in  London,  and  in  print.  Very  soon  afterwards  he  had 
become  a  leader  of  the  Anti-Martinists  in  the  famous  Mar-Prelate  Contro- 
versy, though  his  share  in  it  has  been  overstated.  Mixed  up  with  this  was 
his  private  quarrel  with  Gabriel  Harvey,  in  which  Nash  took  up  the  cudgels 
for  his  dead  friend  Greene,  nor  laid  them  down  for  seven  years.  Little  is 
known  of  his  personal  life,  except  that  in  1597  he  was  put  in  prison  on  ac- 
count of  some  passages  in  his  play.  The  Isle  of  Dogs.  He  was  busily  em- 
ployed with  his  pen  till  his  death,  which  occurred  in  1600,  or  early  in  1601.] 

Whether  by  chance  or  otherwise,  Nash,  by  the  publication  of 
The  Unfortunate  Traveller,  or  The  Life  of  Jack  Wilton  (1594), 
became  the  father  of  the  English  novel  of  adventure, — a  literary 
species  destined  to  a  long  and  robust  life,  and  not  unlikely  to 
endure  so  long  as  English  novels  are  produced  for  home  con- 
sumption. Thus,  if  only  by  right  of  this  one  achievement, 
Nash  holds  a  very  notable  place  in  the  history  of  English  prose. 
Perhaps  his  story,  and  its  successors  in  the  long  line  which 
includes  Roderick  Rattdom  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  might  be  still 
further  differentiated  as  the  novel  of  odd  or  mixed  adventure.  To 
this  traveller  no  kind  of  e.xperience  coines  amiss  or  needs  an  elabo- 
rate assimilative  process.  He  is  in  turn  practical  joker,  poet's  con- 
fidant (contriving,  in  this  capacity,  to  mystify  a  long  succession  of 
commentators  with  his  pleasant  invention  of  the  legend  of  Surrey 
and  the  Lady  Geraldine),  and  leading  actor  in  scene  upon  scene 
of  desperate  intrigue.  Historical  celebrities,  from  Henry  VIII.  to 
Martin  Luther,  help  to  crowd  Nash's  canvas,  and  he  is  so  pro- 
lific of  incident  that  we  forbear  looking  very  closely  after  his  plot. 
The   style    of  the    story   is   easy   and    familiar,   although   amply 

56s 


566  ENGLISH  PROSE 


furnished  with  both  Latin  quotations  and  native  adages ;  jests 
abound,  nor  are  puns  wanting  ;  but  the  guileless  author  expressly 
disclaims  the  intention  of  personalities.  Altogether,  his  audacity- 
deserved  its  success,  though,  being  written  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
the  book  must  be  set  down  as  a  little  too  long. 

Yet  it  is  not  by  his  efforts  in  the  field  of  the  novel,  or  in  the 
contiguous  one  of  the  drama,  that  Nash  is  most  generally  remem- 
bered. He  is  best  known  by  his  extraordinary  activity  and 
vigour  as  a  writer  of  pamphlets,  not  of  the  sugared  kind  whereby 
Greene  fascinated  his  lady  and  gentlemen  readers,  but  of  the  more 
highly-seasoned  controversial  sort.  As  such,  from  the  time  when 
he  first  came  before  the  world  with  his  Anatomy  of  Absurdity^ 
so  named  in  imitation  of  one  of  Greene's  titles,  he  was  always 
effective,  whether  it  was  the  Martinists,  or  the  unspeakable 
Pembroke  don,  or  any  other  "  Pruritan  "  foe  whom  he  set  himself 
to  make  wince,  or  whether  he  fared  forth  as  a  critic  of  things  in 
general,  like  a  latter-day  weekly  journalist.  His  style  as  a 
pamphleteer  cannot  be  called  Euphuistic,  being  altogether  devoid 
of  the  well-known  distinctive  marks  of  cadence,  alliteration,  and 
wire-drawn  simile.  Of  course,  as  a  classical  scholar  hailing  from 
(slightly  to  alter  his  own  phrase)  the  most  famous  and  fortunate 
contemporary  seminary  of  learning,  he  was  in  honour  bound  to 
adorn  his  writings  liberally  with  classical  phrases  and  allusions, 
and  his  biblical  erudition  is  even  more  notable.  But  the  gems  so 
profusely  introduced  into  his  pages  owe  much  to  their  setting  ; 
nor  was  Nash's  anonymous  brother-Johnian  far  wrong  who, 
shortly  after  his  death,  proclaimed  on  the  academical  stage  that, 
as  to  his  genius, 

' '  for  a  mother-wit, 
Few  men  have  ever  seen  the  like  of  it. " 

Nash  usually  wrote  with  a  definite  purpose,  and  perfectly  under- 
stood the  force  of  good,  strong,  argumentative,  assertive,  or  abusive 
prose.  In  this  sense  he  proclaimed  himself  a  follower  of  the 
Aretine,  confessing  how  little  he  cared  "for  the  demure,  soft 
mediocre  genus,  that  is  like  water  and  wine  mixed  together,"  and 
how  he  preferred  "  pure  wine  of  itself,  that  begets  good  blood  and 
heats  the  brain  thoroughly."  Agreeably  to  the  spirited  style  to 
which  he  allowed  himself  to  be  inclined,  he  was  fond  of  using 
sonorous  compounds,  and  of  coining  "  Italianate  "  verbs  ending  in 
ize.      But  he  was,  at  the  same  time,  gifted  with  a  genuine  satiric 


THOMAS  NASH  567 


vein  of  the  lighter  kind  ;  thus  the  flow  of  ridicule,  for  instance, 
with  which  in  Have  ivHh  you  to  Saffron  W'alden  he  overwhelms 
Gabriel  Harvey's  kith  and  kin,  and  the  earnestness  with  which 
he  indites  an  entire  mock  biography  of  Gabriel  himself,  are  in 
their  way  irresistible.  Hence,  in  Pierce  Pefiniless'  Supplication 
to  the  Devil,  his  humorous  fancy  could  take  a  bolder  flight  and 
produce  one  of  those  odd  Elizabethan  week-day  sermons  in  which 
the  vices  and  follies  of  the  age,  and  its  manners  and  customs  at 
large,  are  depicted  with  so  much  vigour  and  vivacity,  that  the 
character-sketches  and  descriptive  essays  of  later  times,  the  papers 
in  the  Tatler  and  Spectator  above  all,  may  fairly  be  said  to  be 
foreshadowed  in  them.  Nor  would  Nash,  we  may  be  sure,  have 
any  more  than  Steele  or  Addison  refused  to  be  reckoned  after  his 
kind  among  the  moralists  ;  for  though  the  substance  of  his  largest 
book,  entitled  Chrisfs  Tears  over  Jerusalem,  proves  to  be  yet 
another  prose  satire  on  London,  the  solemnity  of  the  induction 
is  incongruous  neither  in  intention,  nor,  I  think,  in  general  effect. 
Although  Nash  was  not  original  enough  to  anticipate  the 
happy  revolution  which  was  to  liberate  English  prose  from  all  its 
self-imposed  fetters,  he  did  good  service  by  his  deliberate  refusal 
to  imitate  the  established  native  models.  "  Euphues"  he  says, 
"  I  read  when  I  was  a  little  ape  at  Cambridge,  and  I  then  thought 
it  was  ipse  ille ;  it  may  be  excellent  good  still,  for  aught  I  know, 
for  I  looked  not  on  it  this  ten  year.  But  to  imitate  it  I  abhor, 
otherwise  than  it  imitates  Plutarch,  Ovid,  and  the  choicest  Latin 
authors."  And  again:  "This  I  will  proudly  boast  .  .  .  that  the 
vein  which  I  have  .  .  .  calls  no  man  father  in  England  but  myself 
— neither  Euphues,  nor  Tarlton,  nor  Greene." 

A.  W.  Ward. 


HOW  THE  HERRING  BECAME  KING  OF  ALL 
FISHES 

So  it  fell  upon  a  time  and  tide,  though  not  upon  a  holiday,  a 
falconer  bringing  over  certain  hawks  out  of  Ireland,  and  airing 
them  above  hatches  on  shipboard,  and  giving  them  stones  to  cast 
and  scour,  one  of  them  broke  loose  from  his  fist  ere  he  was  aware  ; 
which  being  in  her  kingdom,  when  she  was  got  upon  her  wings, 
and  finding  herself  empty-gorged  after  her  casting,  up  to  heaven 
she  towered  to  seek  prey,  but  there  being  no  game  to  please  her, 
down  she  fluttered  to  the  sea  again,  and  a  speckled  fish  playing 
above  the  water,  at  it  she  struck,  mistaking  it  for  a  partridge.  A 
shark  or  tiiberon  that  lay  gaping  for  the  flying  fish  hard  by,  what 
did  me  he,  but  seeing  the  mark  fall  so  just  in  his  mouth,  chopped 
aloft,  and  snapped  her  up  bells  and  all,  at  a  mouthful.  The  news 
of  this  murderous  act  carried  by  the  kingfisher  to  the  ears  of  the 
land  fowls,  there  was  nothing  but  arm,  arm,  to  sea,  to  sea,  swallow 
and  titmouse  ;  to  take  chastisement  of  that  trespass  of  blood  and 
death  committed  a;j;unst  a  peer  of  their  blood  royal.  Preparation 
was  made,  the  muster  taken,  the  leaders  allotted,  and  had  their 
bills  to  take  up  pay  ;  an  old  goshawk  for  general  was  appointed, 
for  marshall  of  the  field  a  sparrowhawk,  whom  for  no  former 
desert  they  put  in  office,  but  because  it  was  one  of  their  lineage 
had  sustained  that  wrong,  and  they  thought  would  be  more  im- 
placable in  condoling  and  commiserating.  The  peacocks,  with 
their  spotted  coats  and  afi'righting  voices,  for  heralds  they  picked 
and  enlisted,  and  the  cockadoodling  cocks  for  their  trumpeters 
(look  upon  any  cock,  and  look  upon  any  trumpeter,  and  see  if  he 
look  not  as  red  as  a  cock  after  his  trumpeting,  and  a  cock  as  red 
as  he  after  his  crowing).  The  kestrels  or  windsuckers  that,  filling 
themselves  with  wind,  fly  against  the  wind  evermore,  for  their 
full-sailed  standard-bearers,  the  cranes  for  pikemen,  and  the  wood- 
cocks for  demi-lances,  and  so  of  the  rest  every  one  according  to 
568 


THOAUS  NASH  569 


that  place  by  nature  he  was  most  apt  for.  Away  to  the  land's  end 
they  trudge,  all  the  sky-bred  chirpers  of  them.  When  they  came 
there,  aquora  iws  terrciit  et ponti  tristis  imago.  They  had  wings 
of  goodwill  to  fly  with,  but  no  webs  on  their  feet  to  swim  with  : 
for  except  the  water-fowls  had  mercy  upon  them,  and  stood  their 
faithful  confederates  and  back-friends,  on  their  backs  to  transport 
them,  they  might  return  home  like  good  fools,  and  gather  straws 
to  build  their  nests,  or  fall  to  their  old  trade  of  picking  worms. 
In  sum,  to  the  water-fowls  unanimately  they  resort,  and  besought 
duck  and  drake,  swan  and  goose,  halcyons  and  sea-pies,  cormorants 
and  seagulls,  of  their  oary  assistance  and  aidful  furtherance  in  this 
action. 

They  were  not  obdurate  to  be  entreated,  though  they  had  little 
cause  to  revenge  the  hawks'  quarrel  from  them,  having  received 
so  many  high  displeasures,  and  slaughters,  and  rapines  of  their 
race,  yet  in  a  general  prosecution  private  feuds  they  trod  under- 
foot, and  submitted  their  endeavours  to  be  at  their  limitation  in 
everything. 

The  puffin  that  is  half  fish,  half  flesh  (a  John  indifferent,  and 
an  ambodexier  betwixt  either)  bewrayed  this  conspiracy  to  Proteus' 
herds,  or  the  fraternity  of  fishes  ;  which  the  greater  giants  of 
Russia  and  Iceland,  as  the  whale,  the  sea-horse,  the  norse,  the 
wasserman,  the  dolphin,  the  grampus,  fleered  and  jeered  at  as  a 
ridiculous  danger,  but  the  lesser  pigmies  and  spawn  of  them, 
thought  it  meet  to  provide  for  themselves  betime,  and  elect  a  king 
amongst  them  that  might  daraine  them  to  battle,  and  under  whose 
Colours  they  might  march  against  these  birds  of  a  feather,  that 
had  so  colleagued  themselves  together  to  destroy  them. 

Who  this  king  should  be,  beshackled  their  wits,  and  laid  them 
a  dry  ground  every  one.  No  ravening  fish  they  would  put  in 
arms,  for  fear  after  he  had  everted  their  foes,  and  fleshed  himself 
in  blood,  for  interchange  of  diet  he  would  rav^n  up  them. 

Some  politic  delegatory  Scipio,  or  witty-pated  Petito,  like  the 
heir  of  Laertes,  Ulysses  (well-known  unto  them  by  his  prolixious 
sea-wandering,  and  dancing  on  the  topless  tottering  hills)  they 
would  single  forth,  if  it  might  be,  whom  they  might  depose 
when  they  list,  if  he  should  begin  to  tyrannise,  and  such  a  one  as 
of  himself  were  able  to  make  a  sound  party  if  all  failed,  and  bid 
base  to  the  enemy  with  his  own  kindred  and  followers. 

None  won  the  day  in  this  but  the  herring,  whom  all  their 
clamorous  suffrages  saluted  with  vive  le  roi,  God  save  the  King, 


570  ENGLISH  PROSE 


God  save  the  King,  save  only  the  plaice  and  the  butte^  that  made 
wry  mouths  at  him,  and  for  their  mocking  have  wry  mouths  ever 
since,  and  the  herring  ever  since  wears  a  coronet  on  his  head,  in 
token  that  he  is  as  he  is.  Which  had  the  worst  end  of  the  staff 
in  that  sea-journey  or  cannazado,  or  whether  some  fowler  with  his 
nets  (as  this  host  of  feathermongers  were  getting  up  to  ride  double) 
involved  or  entangled  them,  or  the  water-fowls  played  them  false 
(as  there  is  no  more  love  betwixt  them  than  betwixt  sailors  and 
land  soldiers)  and  threw  them  off  their  backs,  and  let  them  drown 
when  they  were  launched  into  the  deep,  I  leave  to  some  Alfonsus, 
Poggius  or  yEsop  to  unwrap,  for  my  pen  is  tired  in  it  :  but  this  is 
notorious,  the  herring  from  that  time  to  this  hath  gone  with  an 
army,  and  never  stirs  abroad  without  it,  and  when  he  stirs  abroad 
with  it,  he  sends  out  his  scouts  or  sentinels  before  him,  that  often- 
times are  intercepted,  and  by  their  parti-coloured  liveries  descried, 
whom  the  mariners  after  they  have  took,  use  in  this  sort :  eight 
or  nine  times  they  swinge  them  about  the  mainmast,  and  bid  them 
bring  so  many  last  of  herrings  as  they  have  swinged  them  times, 
and  that  shall  be  their  ransom,  and  so  throw  them  into  the  sea 
again.  King  by  your  leave,  for  in  your  kingship  I  must  leave 
you,  and  repeat  how  from  white  to  red  you  chameleonised. 

(From  Lenten  Stuff.') 


RELIGIOUS  FACTION 

A  FACTION  in  a  kingdom  may  well  be  compared  to  a  spark  of 
fire  :  it  catcheth  hold  at  the  first  in  some  obscure  corner,  in  a 
shop,  in  a  stable,  or  in  a  rick  of  straw,  where  it  lieth  covert  a 
little  time,  but  by  little  and  little  it  gathers  strength,  till  it  rear 
itself  up  to  great  houses,  palaces,  and  princes'  courts,  and  at  last 
it  rageth  and  overruns  whole  cities  and  countries,  without  quench- 
ing before  they  be  utterly  overthrown.  In  the  time  of  Justinian 
the  Emperor,  about  the  credit  and  advancement  of  two  colours, 
Blue  and  Green,  there  grew  in  Constantinople  two  mighty  factions, 
which  made  such  a  head  the  one  against  the  other,  that  in  one 
day  it  cost  many  thousands  of  men  their  lives,  and  the  Emperor 
himself  was  brought  in  great  hazard  both  of  his  empire  and  his 
own  person.  Upon  as  light  an  occasion  in  the  dukedom  of 
Florence,  for  the  two  colours  of  Black  and  White  very  pestilent 


THOMAS  NASH  57* 


quarrels  began  there,  and  the  factions  of  the  Bianchi  and  the  Neri, 
breaking  forth  Hke  a  Hghtning  out  of  the  clouds,  scoured  and 
wasted  the  country  where  they  went.  These  were  but  little  sparks 
in  the  rushes,  that  every  man  treadeth  on,  and  very  trifles  at  the 
first,  yet  you  see  how  foul  a  cockatrice  may  be  hatcht  of  so  small 
an  &%%.  If  I  should  rip  up  the  stomachs  of  some  in  England, 
when  we  consider  the  brawls,  the  garbotls,  the  tragical  exclama- 
tions for  church-apparel,  may  we  not  say  that  England  is  fallen 
into  that  fanatical  faction  of  Florence,  for  Black  and  White  ? 
Where  had  this  brabbler  his  first  beginning  but  in  some  obscure 
corner,  in  the  tip  of  the  tongue  of  some  blind  parlour-preacher  in 
the  land,  in  shops,  in  stalls,  in  the  tinker's  budget,  the  tailor's 
shears,  and  the  shepherd's  tarbox  ?  I  doubt  not,  Marforius,  but 
it  will  wither  where  it  sprang,  and  end  where  it  began,  in  shame 
and  ignorance.  Thou  knowest,  that  the  surest  prop  of  all  princes 
is  to  promote  true  religion,  and  to  keep  it  inviolable  when  it  is 
established,  for  this  is  the  well-tempered  mortar  that  buildeth  up 
all  estates.  He  that  honours  Me  (saith  God),  I  will  honour  him. 
But  this  chopping  and  changing  of  the  religion  of  the  land  is 
nothing  else,  but  to  pick  out  the  mortar  by  little  and  little,  that  at 
the  next  push  Martin  and  his  companions  might  overthrow  the 
state,  and  make  the  imperial  crown  of  her  majesty  kiss  the 
ground. 

(From  PasquiVs  Return  to  England.) 


A  LATTER-DAY  APPEAL 

If  Christ  were  now  naked  and  unvisited,  naked  and  unvisited 
should  He  be,  for  none  would  come  near  Him.  They  would 
rather  forswear  Him  and  defy  Him,  than  come  within  forty  foot 
of  Him.  In  other  lands,  they  have  hospitals,  whither  their  in- 
fected are  transported,  presently  after  they  are  strucken.  They 
have  one  hospital  for  those  that  have  been  in  the  houses  with  the 
infected,  and  are  not  yet  tainted ;  another  for  those  that  are 
tainted,  and  have  the  sores  risen  on  them,  but  not  broken  out. 
A  third,  for  those  that  both  have  the  sores,  and  have  them  broken 
out  on  them.  We  have  no  provision  but  mixing  hand  over  head, 
the  sick  with  the  whole.  A  halfpenny  a  month  to  the  poor  man's 
box,  we  count  our  utter  impoverishing.  I  have  heard  travellers 
of  credit  avouch,  that  in   London  is  not  given  the  tenth  part  of 


572  ENGLISH  PROSE 


that  alms  in  a  week,  which  in  the  poorest  besieged  city  of  France 
is  given  in  a  day.  What,  is  our  religion  all  avarice  and  no  good 
works  ?  Because  we  may  not  build  monasteries,  or  have  masses, 
dirges,  or  trentals  sung  for  our  souls,  are  there  no  deeds  of  mercy 
that  God  hath  enjoined  us  ? 

Our  dogs  are  fed  with  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  our  tables. 
Our  Christian  brethren  are  famished  for  want  of  the  crumbs  that 
fall  from  our  tables.  Take  it  of  me,  rich  men  expressly,  that  it  is 
not  your  own  which  you  have  purchased  with  your  industry  :  it  is 
part  of  it  the  poor's,  part  your  Prince's,  part  your  preacher's. 
You  ought  to  possess  no  rriore  than  will  moderately  sustain  your 
house  and  your  family.  Christ  gave  all  the  victual  He  had,  to 
those  that  flocked  to  hear  His  sermons.  We  have  no  such 
promise-founded  plea  at  the  day  of  all  flesh,  as  that  in  Christ's 
name  we  have  done  alms-deeds.  How  would  we  with  our  charity 
sustain  so  many  mendicant  orders  of  religion  as  we  heretofore 
have,  and  as  now  at  this  very  hour  beyond  sea  are,  if  we  cannot 
keep  and  cherish  the  casual  poor  amongst  us  .''  Never  was  there 
a  simple  liberal  reliever  of  the  poor,  but  prospered  in  niost  things 
he  went  about.  The  cause  that  some  of  you  cannot  prosper,  is, 
for  you  put  out  so  little  to  interest  to  the  poor. 

No  thanks  -  worthy  exhibitions,  or  reasonable  pensions,  will 
you  contribute  to  maimed  soldiers  or  poor  scholars,  as  other 
nations  do,  but  suffer  other  nations  with  your  discontented  poor, 
to  arm  themselves  against  you.  Not  half  the  priests  that  have 
been  sent  from  them  into  England  had  hither  been  sent,  or  ever 
fled  hence,  if  the  cramp  had  not  held  close  your  purse-strings. 
The  livings  of  colleges  by  you  are  not  increased,  but  diminished  : 
because  those  that  first  raised  them  had  a  superstitious  intent, 
none  of  us  ever  after  will  have  any  Christian  charitable  intent. 

In  the  days  of  Solomon,  gold  and  silver  bare  no  price.  In 
these  our  days  (which  are  the  days  of  Satan),  nought  but  they 
bear  any  price.  God  is  despised  in  comparison  of  them.  Demas 
forsook  Christ  for  the  world ;  in  this  our  deceasing  covetous 
world,  Demas  hath  more  followers  than  Christ.  An  old  usurer 
that  hath  ne'er  an  heir,  rakes  up  thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds 
together  in  a  hutch,  will  not  part  with  a  penny,  fares  miserably, 
dies  suddenly,  and  leaves  those  the  fruits  of  his  niggardise,  to 
them  that  never  thank  him. 

He  that  bestoweth  anything  on  a  college  or  hospital,  to  the 
world's  end  shall  have  his  name  remembered  in  daily  thanksgiving 


THOMAS  NASH  573 


to  God  for  him  :  otherwise  he  perisheth  as  the  pelHtory  on  the 
wall,  or  the  weed  on  the  housetop,  that  groweth  only  to  wither  ; 
of  all  his  wealth  no  good  man  reaping  any  benefit,  none  but 
cankers,  prisons  and  barred  chests  live  to  report  he  was  rich. 
Those  great  barred  chests  he  carries  on  his  back  to  Heaven's 
gates,  and  none  so  burdened  is  permitted  to  enter. 

Our  English  cunnudgeons  have  treasure  innumerable,  but  do 
no  good  with  it  All  the  abbey -lands  that  were  the  abstracts 
from  impertinent  alms,  now  scarce  afford  a  meal's  meat  of  alms. 
A  penny  bestowed  on  the  poor  is  abridged  out  of  housekeeping. 
All  must  be  for  their  children  that  spend  more  than  all.  More 
prosperous  children  should  they  have,  were  they  more  open- 
handed.  The  plague  of  God  threatens  to  shorten  both  them  and 
their  children,  because  they  shorten  their  hands  for  the  poor.  To 
no  cause  refer  I  this  present  mortality  but  to  covetise. 

(From  Chris fs  Tears  over  Jerusalem.') 


JOHN   OF  LEYDEN   AND   HIS  CREW 

That  day  come,  flourishing  entered  John  Leyden  the  botcher 
into  the  field,  with  a  scarf  made  of  lists,  like  a  bow-case,  a  cross 
on  his  breast  like  a  thread-bottom,  a  round  twilled  tailor's  cushion 
buckled  like  a  tankard-bearer's  device  to  his  shoulders  for  a  target, 
the  pike  whereof  was  a  pack  needle  ;  a  tough  prentice's  club  for 
his  spear,  a  great  brewer's  cow  on  his  back  for  a  corslet,  and  on 
his  head  for  a  helmet  a  huge  high  shoe  with  the  bottom  turned 
upward,  embossed  as  full  of  hobnails  as  ever  it  might  stick  :  his 
men  were  all  base  handicrafts,  as  cobblers,  and  curriers,  and 
tinkers,  whereof  some  had  bars  of  iron,  some  hatchets,  some  cool 
staves,  some  dung-forks,  some  spades,  some  mattocks,  some  wood 
knives,  some  adzes  for  their  weapons  ;  he  that  was  best  pro- 
vided, had  but  a  piece  of  a  rusty  brown-bill  bravely  fringed  with 
cobwebs  to  fight  for  him  :  perchance  here  and  there  you  might  see 
a  fellow  that  had  a  canker-eaten  skull  on  his  head,  and  another 
that  had  bent  a  couple  of  iron  dripping  pans  armour-wise,  to  fence 
his  back  and  his  belly  ;  another  that  had  thrust  a  pair  of  dry  old 
boots  as  a  breast-plate  before  his  belly  of  his  doublet,  because  he 
would  not  be  dangerously  hurt  :  another  that  had  twilted  his  truss 
full  of  counters,  thinking  if  the  enemy  should  take  him,  he  would 


574  ENGLISH  PROSE 


mistake  them  for  gold,  and  so  save  his  hfe  for  his  money.  Very 
devout  asses  they  were,  for  all  they  were  so  dunstically  set  forth, 
and  such  as  thought  they  knew  as  much  of  God's  mind  as  richer 
men  ;  why,  inspiration  was  their  ordinary  familiar,  and  buzzed  in 
their  ears  like  a  bee  in  a  box  every  hour  what  news  from  heaven, 
hell,  and  the  lands  of  whipperginnie  :  displease  them  who  durst, 
he  should  have  his  mittimus  to  damnation  ex  te7npore  j  they  would 
vaunt  there  was  not  a  pea's  difference  twixt  them  and  the  Apostles  ; 
they  were  as  poor  as  they,  of  as  base  trades  as  they,  and  no  more 
inspired  than  they,  and  with  God  there  is  no  respect  of  persons  ; 
only  herein  may  seem  some  little  diversity  to  lurk,  that  Peter  wore 
a  sword,  and  they  count  it  flat  hell-fire  for  any  man  to  wear  a 
dagger,  nay  so  grounded  and  gravelled  were  they  in  this  opinion, 
that  now  when  they  should  come  to  battle,  there  ne'er  a  one  of 
them  would  bring  a  blade  (no  not  an  onion-blade)  about  him,  to 
die  for  it.  It  was  not  lawful,  said  they,  for  any  man  to  draw  the 
sword  but  the  magistrate,  and  in  fidelity  (which  I  had  wellnigh 
forgot),  Jack  Leyden,  their  magistrate,  had  the  image  or  likeness 
of  a  piece  of  a  rusty  sword  like  a  lusty  lad  by  his  side  :  now  I 
remember  me,  it  was  but  a  foil  neither,  and  he  wore  it  to  show 
that  he  should  have  the  foil  of  his  enemies,  which  might  have 
been  an  oracle  for  his  two-hand  interpretation.  Quid  phira,  his 
battle  is  pitched  :  by  pitched,  I  do  not  mean  set  in  order,  for 
that  was  far  from  their  order,  only  as  sailors  do  pitch  their 
apparel  to  make  it  storm-proof,  so  had  most  of  them  pitched  their 
patched  clothes,  to  make  them  impierceable.  A  nearer  way  than 
to  be  at  the  charges  of  armour  by  half:  and  in  another  sort  he 
might  be  said  to  have  pitched  the  field,  for  he  had  pitched  or  set 
up  his  rest  whither  to  fly  if  they  were  discomfited.  Peace,  peace 
there  in  the  belfry  :  service  begins,  upon  their  knees  before  they 
join  falls  John  Leyden  and  his  fraternity  very  devoutly,  they  pray, 
they  howl,  they  expostulate  with  God  to  grant  them  victory,  and 
use  such  unspeakable  vehemence,  a  man  would  think  them  the 
only  well-bent  men  under  heaven  ;  wherein  let  me  dilate  a  little 
more  gravely  than  the  nature  of  this  history  requires,  or  will  be 
expected  of  so  young  a  practitioner  in  divinity  :  that  not  those 
that  intermissively  cry,  Lord  open  unto  us,  Lord  open  unto  us, 
enter  first  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  :  that  not  the  greatest  pro- 
fessors have  the  greatest  portion  in  grace,  that  all  is  not  gold  that 
glisters.  When  Christ  said  the  kingdom  of  heaven  must  suffer 
violence,  He  meant  not  the  violence  of  long  babbling  prayers  to 


THOMAS  NASH  575 


no  purpose,  nor  the  violence  of  tedious  invective  sennons  without 
wit,  but  the  violence  of  faith,  the  violence  of  good  works,  the 
violence  of  patient  sufifcring.  The  ignorant  arise  and  snatch  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  to  themselves  with  greediness,  when  we  with 
all  our  learning  sink  down  into  hell. 

(From  TJie  Unfortunate  Traveller^ 


SURREY'S   KNIGHT-ERRANTRY 

Ah,  quoth  he,  my  little  Page,  full  little  canst  thou  perceive  how 
far  metamorphosed  I  am  from  myself,  since  I  last  saw  thee. 
There  is  a  little  god  called  Love,  that  will  not  be  worshipped  of  any 
leaden  brains  ;  one  that  proclaims  himself  sole  king  and  emperor 
of  piercing  eyes,  and  chief  sovereign  of  soft  hearts  :  he  it  is  that 
exercising  his. empire  in  my  eyes,  hath  exorcised  and  clean  con- 
jured me  from  my  content.  Thou  knowest  stately  Geraldine,  too 
stately  I  fear  for  me  to  do  homage  to  her  statue  or  shrine  :  she  it 
is  that  is  come  out  of  Italy  to  bewitch  all  the  wise  men  of  Eng- 
land ;  upon  Queen  Katharine  Dowager  she  waits,  that  hath  a 
dowry  of  beauty  sufificient  to  make  her  wooed  of  the  greatest 
kings  in  Christendom.  Her  high  exalted  sunbeams  have  set  the 
phcenix-nest  of  my  breast  on  fire,  and  I  myself  have  brought 
Arabian  spiceries  of  sweet  passions  and  praises,  to  furnish  out  the 
funeral  flame  of  my  folly.  Those  who  were  condemned  to  be 
smothered  to  death  by  sinking  down  into  the  soft  bottom  of  an 
high-built  bed  of  roses,  never  died  so  sweet  a  death  as  I  should 
die,  if  her  rose-coloured  disdain  were  my  deathsman.  Oh  thrice 
imperial  Hampton  Court,  Cupid's  enchanted  castle,  the  place 
where  I  first  saw  the  perfect  omnipotence  of  the  Almighty  ex- 
pressed in  mortality,  'tis  thou  alone  that,  tithing  all  other  men 
solace  in  thy  pleasant  situation,  afibrdest  me  nothing  but  an 
excellent -begotten  sorrow  out  of  the  chief  treasure  of  all  thy 
recreations. 

Dear  Wilton,  understand  that  there  it  was  where  I  first  set 
eye  on  my  more  than  celestial  Geraldine.  Seeing  her,  I  admired 
her  ;  all  the  whole  receptacle  of  my  sight  was  inhabited  with  her 
rare  worth.  Long  suit  and  incessant  protestations  got  me  the 
grace  to  be  entertained.  Did  never  unloving  servant  so  prentice- 
like obey  his  never-pleased  mistress  as   I  did  her.      My  life,  my 


576  ENGLISH  PROSE 


wealth,  my  friends,  had  all  their  destiny  depending  on  her  com- 
mand. Upon  a  time  I  was  determined  to  travel  ;  the  fame  of 
Italy,  and  an  especial  affection  I  had  unto  poetry,  my  second 
mistress,  for  which  Italy  was  so  famous,  had  wholly  ravished  me 
unto  it.  There  was  no  dehortment  from  it,  but  needs  thither  I 
would  ;  wherefore  coming  to  my  mistress  as  she  was  then  walking 
with  other  ladies  of  estate  in  paradise  at  Hampton  Court,  I  most 
humbly  besought  her  of  favour,  that  she  would  give  me  so  much 
gracious  leave  to  absent  myself  from  her  service,  as  to  travel  a 
year  or  two  into  Italy,  She  very  discreetly  answered  me,  that  if 
my  love  were  so  hot  as  I  had  often  avouched,  I  did  very  well  to 
apply  the  plaister  of  absence  unto  it,  for  absence,  as  they  say, 
causeth  forgetfulness  ;  yet  "  nevertheless  since  it  is  Italy,  my 
native  country,  you  are  so  desirous  to  see,  I  am  the  more  willing 
to  make  my  will  yours.  /,  pete  Italiam;  go  and  seek  Italy  with 
yEneas,  but  be  more  true  than  ^neas  ;  I  hope  that  kind  wit- 
cherishing  climate  will  work  no  change  in  so  witty  a  breast.  No 
country  of  mine  shall  it  be  more,  if  it  conspire  with  thee  in  any 
new  love  against  me.  One  charge  I  will  give  thee,  and  let  it  be 
rather  a  request  than  a  charge  :  when  thou  comest  to  Florence 
(the  fair  city  from  whence  I  fetched  the  pride  of  my  birth),  by  an 
open  challenge  defend  my  beauty  against  all- comers. 

"  Thou  hast  that  honourable  carriage  in  arms,  that  it  shall  be 
no  discredit  for  me  to  bequeath  all  the  glory  of  my  beauty  to  thy 
well-governed  arm.  Fain  would  I  be  known  where  I  was  born  ; 
fain  would  I  have  thee  known  where  fame  sits  in  her  chiefest 
theatre.  Farewell,  forget  me  not,  continued  deserts  will  eternise 
me  unto  thee,  thy  full  wishes  shall  be  expired  when  thy  travel 
shall  be  once  ended." 

Here  did  tears  step  out  before  words,  and  intercepted  the 
course  of  my  kind-conceived  speech,  even  as  wind  is  allayed  with 
rain  ;  with  heart-scalding  sighs  I  confirmed  her  parting  request, 
and  vowed  myself  hers  while  living  heat  allowed  me  to  be  mine 
own  :  Hinc  illae  lacriniae,  hence  proceedeth  the  whole  cause  of 
my  peregrination. 

(From  the  same.) 


SAMUEL   DANIEL 

[Samuel  Daniel's  modest  and  uneventful  life  belongs  to  the  biographical 
history  rather  of  English  poetry  than  of  English  prose.  He  was  born  some- 
where near  Taunton,  in  1562.  He  entered  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  in 
1579,  and  he  died  at  Beckington,  in  his  native  county,  where  he  had  a  small 
estate,  in  1619.  Part  of  his  life  was  spent  in  travel  (to  Italy,  as  usual)  and 
in  acting  as  tutor  to  the  noble  families  of  Clifford,  Herbert,  and  others,  part 
in  a  retired  house  in  Old  Street,  London,  where  he  saw  good  literary  com- 
pany. The  strong  historical  and  philosophical  complexion  of  his  poems  only 
concerns  us  here  as  it  is  reflected  in  his  prose  works.  The  principal  of  these 
in  point  of  bulk,  was  a  History  of  England,  the  first  part  of  which,  reaching 
to  the  reign  of  Stephen,  was  published  in  1611.  It  was  subsequently  extended 
to  the  reign  of  Edward  III. ,  and  was  (it  would  seem  unjustly)  attributed,  in  part 
at  least,  to  Raleigh.  As  not  much  space  is  here  available  for  Daniel,  it  has  not 
seemed  necessary  to  draw  on  this,  an  avowed  compilation,  and  not  dis- 
tinguishable in  any  point  of  style  from  the  short  but  really  remarkable 
Defence  of  Rhyme,  which  preceded  it  in  publication  by  nine  years,  and  which 
constitutes  Daniel's  real  title  to  rank  as  an  English  prose  writer.] 

Daniel's  Defejice  of  Rhyme  is  both  in  substance  and  form  one 
of  the  most  interesting  critical  tracts  in  the  language.  It  is 
very  short,  not  perhaps  in  all  exceeding  five  or  six  times  the 
bulk  of  the  extracts  here  given  ;  and  it  is  not  altogether  skilfully 
arranged,  for  it  does  not  end  with  the  fine  passage  which  closes 
our  extracts,  but  with  an  awkward  and  rather  flat  postscript. 
But  it  is  an  excellent  example  of  reasoned  enthusiasm,  prevailing 
over  a  delusion  which  had  beset  men  of  far  greater  genius  than 
Daniel's  before  him,  and  was  not  to  be  without  a  hold  on  men  of 
far  greater  genius  after  him.  The  fallacies  which  worked  even 
on  Spenser,  even  on  Milton,  fell  harmless — it  cannot  be  said 
from  Daniel's  ignorance,  it  cannot  be  said  from  his  stupidity,  but 
from  his  combination  of  enthusiasm  with  plain  good  sense,  of 
acquired  scholarship  with  natural  critical  power.  It  is  also 
noticeable  with  what  courtesy,  in  glaring  contrast  to  the  habits  of 
the  time,  he  treats  his  opponent,  Thomas  Campion,  who,  himself 
VOL.  L  577  2  P 


578  ENGLISH  PROSE 


an  accomplished,  and  at  his  best  an  exquisite  poet  in  rhyme,  had 
in  his  Obseri/ations  in  the  Art  of  Eftglish  Poesy  endeavoured  to 
inculcate  the  pestilent  heresy  of  English  sapphics  and  the  like. 
1  do  not  think  it  fanciful  to  connect  with  this  sound  sense  of 
Daniel's  the  simplicity  of  his  style,  which  seemed  to  the  eighteenth 
century  positively  "  modern  " ;  and  which,  perhaps,  has  only  lost 
some  of  this  modernness  to  us  because  we  have  revived  or 
invented  tricks  to  take  the  place  of  the  tricks  used  by  some  of 
Daniel's  contemporaries.  He  is  neither  flat  nor  dull  ;  the  preface 
and  the  closing  sentences  of  the  last  extract  will  amply  free  him 
from  either  reproach.  But  he  is  eminently  simple,  and  some 
slight  changes  in  punctuation  would  make  him  simpler  still.  It 
may  be  that  gratitude  to  him  for  his  good  deeds — inasmuch  as  he 
certainly  deserves  the  "  crown  of  grass "  for  delivering  English 
poetry  from  a  really  dangerous  siege — may  a  little,  in  "  worthy 
lovers,"  if  not  in  "  learned  professors  "  of  rhyme,  affect  the  esti- 
mate of  his  formal  merit :  but  I  do  not  think  so.  In  all  the  best 
qualities  of  prose — sobriety,  lucidity,  proportion — he  is  eminent 
among  his  fellows. 

George  Saintsbury. 


A  DEFENCE  OF  RHYME 

To  ALL  THE  Worthy  Lovers  and  Learned  Professors 
OF  Rhyme  within  His  Majesty's  Dominions 

Worthy  Gentlemen — About  a  year  since,  upon  the  great 
reproach  given  the  professors  of  rhyme,  and  the  use  thereof,  I 
wrote  a  private  letter,  as  a  defence  of  my  own  undertakings  in  that 
kind,  to  a  learned  gentleman,  a  friend  of  mine,  then  in  court.  Which 
I  did,  rather  to  confirm  myself  in  mine  own  courses,  and  to  hold 
him  from  being  won  from  us,  than  with  any  desire  to  publish  the 
same  to  the  world. 

But  now,  seeing  the  times  to  promise  a  more  regard  to  the 
present  condition  of  our  writings,  in  respect  of  our  sovereign's 
happy  inclination  this  way  :  whereby  we  are  rather  to  expect  an 
encouragement  to  go  on  with  what  we  do,  than  that  any  innovation 
should  check  us,  with  a  show  of  what  it  would  do  in  another  kind, 
and  yet  do  nothing  but  deprave  :  I  have  now  given  a  greater  body 
to  the  same  argument  ;  and  here  present  it  to  your  view,  under  the 
patronage  of  a  noble  earl,  who  in  blood  and  nature  is  interested  to 
take  our  part  in  this  cause,  with  others  who  cannot,  I  know,  but 
hold  dear  the  monuments  that  have  been  left  unto  the  world  in 
this  manner  of  composition  ;  and  who,  I  trust,  will  take  in  good 
part  this  my  defence,  if  not  as  it  is  my  particular,  yet  in  respect  of 
the  cause  I  undertake,  which  I  here  invoke  you  all  to  protect. 


THE  LIMITS  OF  AUTHORITY 

Methinks  we  should  not  so  soon  yield  up  our  consents  captive  to 
the  authority  of  antiquity,  unless  we  saw  more  reason  ;  all  our 
understandings  are  not  to  be  built  by  the  square  of  Greece  and 
Italy.      We  are  the  children  of  nature  as  well  as  they,  we  are  not 

579 


5  So  ENGLISH  PROSE 


so  placed  out  of  the  way  of  judgment,  but  that  the  same  sun  of 
discretion  shineth  upon  us  ;  we  have  our  portion  of  the  same 
virtues  as  well  as  of  the  same  vices,  et  Catilinavi  qicocunque  in 
populo  videas,  qi(OCtaiqite  sub  axe.  Time  and  the  turn  of  things 
bring  about  these  faculties  according  to  the  present  estimation  ; 
and,  res  tetnpo7'ibus  noji  tempora  rebus  servire  oportet.  So  that 
we  must  never  rebel  against  use  ;  quern  penes  arbitriuni  est,  et  ius 
et  ftoriiia  /oquendi.  It  is  not  the  observing  of  trochaics  nor  their 
iambics,  that  will  make  our  writings  aught  the  wiser  ;  all  their 
poesy,  and  all  their  philosophy  is  nothing,  unless  we  bring  the 
discerning  light  of  conceit  with  us  to  apply  it  to  use.  It  is  not 
books,  but  only  that  great  book  of  the  world,  and  the  all  over- 
spreading grace  of  Heaven  that  makes  men  truly  judicial.  Nor 
can  it  but  touch  of  arrogant  ignorance,  to  hold  this  or  that  nation 
barbarous,  these  or  those  times  gross,  considering  how  this  mani- 
fold creature  man,  wheresoever  he  stand  in  the  world,  hath  always 
some  disposition  of  worth,  entertains  the  order  of  society,  affects 
that  which  is  most  in  use,  and  is  eminent  in  some  one  thing  or 
other  that  fits  his  humour  and  the  times.  The  Grecians  held  all 
other  nations  barbarous  but  themselves  ;  yet  Pyrrhus,  when  he 
saw  the  well-ordered  marching  of  the  Romans,  which  made  them 
see  their  presumptuous  error,  could  say  it  was  no  barbarous 
manner  of  proceeding.  The  Goths,  Vandals,  and  Longobards, 
whose  coming  down  like  an  inundation  overwhelmed,  as  they  say, 
all  the  glory  of  learning  in  Europe,  have  yet  left  us  still  their  laws 
and  customs,  as  the  originals  of  most  of  the  provincial  constitutions 
of  Christendom  ;  which  well  considered  with  their  other  courses  of 
government,  may  serve  to  clear  them  from  this  imputation  of 
ignorance.  And  though  the  vanquished  never  speak  well  of  the 
conqueror,  yet  even  through  the  unsound  coverings  of  malediction 
appear  those  monuments  of  truth,  as  argue  well  their  worth,  and 
prove   them    not    without  judgment,   though   without    Greek  and 


Latin. 


LET  U.S   BE  TRUE  TO   OURSELVES 

Let  us  go  no  further,  but  look  upon  the  wonderful  architecture  of 
this  state  of  England,  and  see  whether  they  were  deformed  times 
that  could  give  it  such  a  form.  Where  there  is  no  one  the  least 
pillar  of  majesty,  but  was  set  with  most  profound  judgment,  and 


SAMUEL  DANIEL  581 


borne  up  with  the  just  conveniency  of  prince  and  people.  No 
court  of  justice,  but  laid  by  the  rule  and  square  of  nature,  and  the 
best  of  the  best  commonwealths  that  ever  were  in  the  world  ;  so 
strong  and  substantial  as  it  hath  stood  against  all  the  stonns  of 
factions,  both  of  belief  and  ambition,  which  so  powerfully  beat  upon 
it,  and  all  the  tempestuous  alterations  of  humorous  times  whatso- 
ever ;  being  continually,  in  all  ages,  Ajrnished  with  spirits  fit  to 
maintain  the  majesty  of  her  own  greatness,  and  to  match  in  an 
equal  concurrency  all  other  kingdoms  round  about  her  with  whom 
it  had  to  encounter. 

But  this  innovation,  like  a  viper,  must  ever  make  way  into  the 
world's  opinion,  through  the  bowels  of  her  own  breeding,  and  is 
always  bom  with  reproach  in  her  mouth  ;  the  disgracing  others  is 
the  best  grace  it  can  put  on,  to  win  reputation  of  wit,  and  yet  it  is 
never  so  wise  as  it  would  seem,  nor  doth  the  world  ever  get  so 
much  by  it  as  it  imagineth  ;  which  being  so  often  deceived,  and 
seeing  it  never  performs  so  much  as  it  promises,  methinks  men 
should  never  give  more  credit  unto  it :  for,  let  us  change  never  so 
often,  we  cannot  change  man,  our  imperfections  must  still  run  on 
with  us,  and  therefore  the  wiser  nations  have  taught  men  always 
to  use  tnoribiis  legibusque  pro'senfibiis  etiavi  si  deieriores  sint. 
The  Lacedemonians,  when  a  musician,  thinking  to  win  himself 
credit  by  his  new  invention,  and  be  before  his  fellows,  had  added 
one  string  more  to  his  crowd,  brake  his  fiddle,  and  banished  him 
the  city,  holding  the  innovator,  though  in  the  least  things,  dangerous 
to  a  public  society.  It  is  but  a  fantastic  giddiness  to  forsake  the 
way  of  other  men,  especially  where  it  lies  tolerable  :  Ubi  nunc  est 
respublica,  ibi  simus  potitis  quani,  duin  illam  veterem  scquimur, 
siiniis  in  Jii//la. 

But  shall  we  not  tend  to  perfection  ?  Yes,  and  that  ever  best 
by  going  on  in  the  course  we  are  in,  where  we  have  advantage, 
being  so  far  onward,  of  him  that  is  but  now  setting  forth  ;  for  we 
shall  never  proceed,  if  we  be  ever  beginning,  nor  arrive  at  any 
certain  port,  sailing  with  all  winds  that  blow,  non  convalescit  planta 
quce  sapius  transfertU7\  and  therefore  let  us  hold  on  in  the  course 
we  have  undertaken,  and  not  still  be  wandering.  Perfection  is  not 
the  portion  of  man  ;  and  if  it  were,  why  may  we  not  as  well  get  to 
it  this  way  as  another  ?  And  suspect  these  great  undertakers,  lest 
they  have  conspired  with  envy  to  betray  our  proceedings,  and  put 
us  by  the  honour  of  our  attempts,  with  casting  us  back  upon 
another  course,  of  purpose  to  overthrow  the  whole  action  of  glory, 


582  ENGLISH  PROSE 


when  we  lay  the  fairest  for  it,  and  were  so  near  our  hopes.  I 
thank  God,  that  I  am  none  of  these  great  scholars,  if  thus  their 
high  knowledges  do  but  give  them  more  eyes  to  look  out  into 
uncertainty  and  confusion,  accounting  myself  rather  beholding  to 
my  ignorance,  that  hath  set  me  in  so  low  an  under-room  of  conceit 
with  other  men,  and  hath  given  me  as  much  distrust  as  it  hath 
done  hope,  daring  not  adventure  to  go  alone,  but  plodding  on  the 
plain  tract  I  find  beaten  by  custom  and  the  time,  contenting  me 
with  what  I  see  in  use. 

And  surely  methinks  these  great  wits  should  rather  seek  to 
adorn,  than  to  disgrace  the  present,  bring  something  to  it,  without 
taking  from  it  what  it  hath ;  but  it  is  ever  the  misfortune  of 
learning,  to  be  wounded  by  her  own  hand.  Stimulos  dat  cemula 
virtus ;  and  when  there  is  not  ability  to  match  what  is,  malice 
will  find  out  engines,  either  to  disgrace  or  ruin  it,  with  a  perverse 
encounter  of  some  new  impression  ;  and,  which  is  the  greatest 
misery,  it  must  ever  proceed  from  the  powers  of  the  best  reputa- 
tion, as  if  the  greatest  spirits  were  ordained  to  endanger  the  world, 
as  the  gross  are  to  dishonour  it ;  and  that  we  were  to  expect  ab 
optimts  pericidum,  a  pessitnis  dedecus  publicum.  Emulation,  the 
strongest  pulse  that  beats  in  high  minds,  is  oftentimes  a  wind,  but 
of  the  worst  effect  ;  for  whilst  the  soul  comes  disappointed  of  the 
object  it  wrought  on,  it  presently  forges  another,  and  even  cozens 
itself,  and  crosses  all  the  world,  rather  than  it  will  stay  to  be  under 
her  desires,  falling  out  with  all  it  hath,  to  flatter  and  make  fair  that 
which  it  would  have. 


THOMAS    DEKKER 

[Nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  is  known  of  Dekker's  life.  From  a  vague 
reference  of  his  own  it  would  seem  that  he  was  born  about  the  sixth  or  seventh 
decade  of  the  sixteenth  century.  He  was  married  before  1594 — if  indeed  the 
register  on  which  this  inference  is  grounded  refers  to  him.  He  had  pretty 
certainly  begun  to  write  for  the  stage  some  years  before  1600  :  and  he  seems 
to  have  been  alive  as  late  as  1637.  But  scarcely  a  figure  in  the  whole 
shadowy  Elizabethan  calendar  is  more  shadowy  than  his.  His  works  in  prose, 
verse,  and  drama,  with  their  dates  in  some  cases,  are  almost  the  only  certain 
things  we  know  about  him.  Of  the  first  division — the  only  one  which  concerns 
us  here — the  chief  are  The  Wonderful  Year  and  A  Bachelor's  Banquet,  both 
belonging  to  the  year  1603,  ^^^  ^  series  of  pamphlets  (mostly  similar  to  the 
"cony-catching"  pieces  of  Greene)  which  range  from  1606  to  1609.  Among 
these  rank  The  Seven  Deadly  Sins  of  London,  A^ews  from  Hell,  The  Gull's 
Hornbook  (the  best  known  of  all).  The  Bellman  of  London,  Lanthorne  and 
Candle  Light,  The  Dead  Term  (long  vacation),  Work  for  Artnourers,  and 
Th^  Raven^s  Almanack.  The  Four  Birds  of  Noah's  Ark,  a  devotional  work, 
dates  from  1613.  It  would  appear  that  Dekker's  later  years  were  entirely 
devoted  to  the  stage — at  least  we  have  no  prose  extant  that  seems  to  date 
from  them.] 

The  prose  works  of  Dekker  belong  to  a  very  curious  division  of 
English  literature  which  has  never  since  its  own  day  been  widely 
read,  and  which  is  not  very  easy  to  characterise  briefly  to  those 
who  have  not  read  it.  This  division  consists  of  those  pamphlets 
in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James  which,  were  not  devoted  to 
polemical  or  didactic  purposes,  and  which  obviously  aimed  at 
little  or  nothing  more  than  providing  amusement.  Comparatively 
rare  as  examples  of  it  are  now,  it  must  have  had  a  considerable 
circulation  at  the  time,  for  it  was  almost  entirely  the  work  of  men 
who  lived  by  their  pens,  and  who  would  evidently  have  written 
something  else  if  this  had  not  brought  them  in  money.  Its  two 
chief  subdivisions  were  the  Euphuist  romance,  and  an  odd  kind 
of  olio  or  miscellany  of  satire,  moral  reflection,  and  scraps  from 
books,  attempts  to  pourtray  the  ways  and  habits  of  the  lower  and 
looser  London  society  of  the  time.      It  is  impossible   to  tell  how 

583 


584  ENGLISH  PROSE 


far  this  kind  of  picture  of  manners,  to  the  class  of  which  Dekker's 
prose  work  chiefly  belongs,  is  a  genuine  reproduction  of  fact,  and 
how  far  it  is  "  made  up "  for  literary  purposes.  Sketches  of 
Bohemia  by  Bohemians  always  have  something  factitious  and 
suspicious  about  them,  and  perhaps  this  is  not,  in  Dekker's  case, 
lessened  by  the  fact  that  some  of  his  work  in  this  kind  is  trans- 
lation or  adaptation— as  of  The  GtilFs  Hornbook  from  Dedekind's 
Grobiaiius^  and  of  the  Bachelor's  Banquet,  from  the  famous  French 
satire  of  the  (2uinse  Joies  dii  Mariage.  Yet  there  is  much  fresh- 
ness and  apparent  fidelity  in  the  details,  despite  the  reminiscences 
of  books  that  constantly  occur. 

Dekker  has  few  obvious  idiosyncrasies  or  mannerisms  of  style.  It 
does  not  seem  that  he  was  a  university  man,  and  he  is  less  prodigal 
of  scraps  of  learning  and  tags  of  Latin  than  his  academic  contem- 
poraries, though  his  work  is  not  absolutely  lacking  in  such  things. 
The  Euphuist  simile  and  the  abuse  of  alliteration,  which  abound 
in  some  of  his  earlier  fellows,  are  also  by  no  means  prominent  in 
him.  Contrariwise,  his  prose  has  much  of  the  simple  and  natural 
grace  which  is  perceptible  in  the  best  parts  of  his  plays,  and  it 
sometimes  seems  rather  wasted  on  the  ephemeral  and  barren 
fashion  of  composition  which,  as  a  hack  writer,  he  probably  had 
no  choice  but  to  adopt. 

George  Saintsbury. 


CITY  HUNTING 

This  ferret  hunting  hath  his  seasons  as  other  games  have,  and  is 
followed  at  such  a  time  of  year,  when  the  gentry  of  our  kingdom, 
by  riots,  having  chased  themselves  out  of  the  fair  revenues  and 
large  possession  left  to  them  by  their  ancestors,  are  forced  to  hide 
their  heads  like  conies,  in  little  caves  and  in  unfrequented  places  : 
or  else  being  almost  windless,  by  running  after  sensual  pleasures 
too  fiercely,  they  are  glad  (for  keeping  themselves  in  breath  so 
long  as  they  can)  to  fall  to  ferret  hunting,  that  is  to  say,  to  take 
up  commodities. 

No  warrant  can  be  granted  for  a  buck   in   this   forest,  but   it 
must  pass  under  these  five  hands. 

1.  He  that  hunts  up  and  down  to  find   game,   is  called  the 
tumbler. 

2.  The  commodities  that  are  taken  up  are  called  purse-nets. 

3.  The  citizen  that  sells  them  is  the  ferret. 

4.  They  that  take  up  are  the  rabbit-suckers. 

5.  He  upon  whose  credit  these  rabbit-suckers  run,  is  called  the 


HOW  THE  WARREN    IS   M.A.DE 

After  a  rain,  conies  use  to  come  out  of  their  holes  and  to  sit 
nibbling  on  weeds  or  anything  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  after 
a  revelling  when  younger  brothers  have  spent  all,  or  in  gaming 
have  lost  all,  they  sit  plotting  in  their  chambers  with  necessity 
how  to  be  furnished  presently  with  a  new  supply  of  money.  They 
will  take  up  any  commodity  whatsoever,  but  their  names  stand  in 
too  many  texted  letters  already  in  mercers'  and  scriveners'  books  : 
upon  a  hundred  pounds  worth  of  roasted  beef  they  could  find  in 

585 


586  ENGLISH  PROSE 


their  hearts  to  venture,  for  that  would  away  in  turning  of  a  hand  : 
but  where  shall  they  find  a  butcher  or  a  cook  that  will  let  any  man 
run  so  much  upon  the  score  for  flesh  only  ? 

Suppose  therefore  that  four  of  such  loose-fortuned  gallants  were 
tied  in  one  knot,  and  knew  not  how  to  fasten  themselves  upon 
some  wealthy  citizen.  At  the  length  it  runs  into  their  heads  that 
such  a  young  novice  (who  daily  serves  to  fill  up  their  company) 
was  never  entangled  in  any  city  lime-bush  :  they  know  his  present 
means  to  be  good,  and  those  tp  come  to  be  great  :  him  therefore 
they  lay  upon  the  anvil  of  their  wits,  till  they  have  wrought  him 
like  wax,  for  himself  as  well  as  for  them  :  to  do  anything  in  wax, 
or  indeed  till  they  have  won  him  to  slide  upon  this  ice,  (because 
he  knows  not  the  danger)  is  he  easily  drawn  :  for  he  considers 
within  himself  that  they  are  all  gentlemen  well  descended,  they 
have  rich  fathers,  they  wear  good  clothes,  have  been  gallant 
spenders,  and  do  now  and  then  (still)  let  it  fly  freely  :  he  is  to 
venture  upon  no  more  rocks  than  all  they,  what  then  should  he 
fear  ?  he  therefore  resolves  to  do  it,  and  the  rather  because  his 
own  exhibition  runs  low,  and  that  there  lack  a  great  many  weeks 
to  the  quarter  day  ;  at  which  time  he  shall  be  refurnished  from  his 
father. 

The  match  being  agreed  upon,  one  of  them  that  has  been  an 
old  ferret-monger,  and  knows  all  the  tricks  of  such  hunting  seeks 
out  a  tumbler,  that  is  to  say  a  fellow,  who  beats  the  bush  for 
them  till  they  catch  the  birds,  he  himself  being  contented  (as  he 
protests  and  swears)  only  with  a  few  feathers. 


THE  TUMBLER'S  HUNTING   DRY-FOOT 

This  tumbler  being  let  loose  runs  snuffing  up  and  down  close 
to  the  ground,  in  the  shops  either  of  mercers,  goldsmiths,  drapers, 
haberdashers,  or  of  any  other  trade,  where  he  thinks  he  may  meet 
with  a  ferret  :  and  though  upon  his  very  first  course  he  can  find 
his  game,  yet  to  make  his  gallants  more  hungry,  and  to  think  he 
wearies  himself  in  hunting  the  more,  he  comes  to  them  sweating 
and  swearing  that  the  city  ferrets  are  so  coaped  (that  is  to  say, 
have  their  lips  stitched  up  so  close)  that  he  can  hardly  get  them 
open  to  so  great  a  sum  Uo  five  hundred  pounds  which  they  desire. 


THOMAS  DEKKER  587 


This  herb  being  chewed  down  by  the  rabbit-suckers  ahnost  kills 
their  hearts,  and  is  worse  to  them  than  nabbing  on  the  necks  to 
conies.  They  bid  him  if  he  cannot  fasten  his  teeth  upon  plate  or 
cloth,  or  silks,  to  lay  hold  on  brown  paper  or  tobacco,  Bar- 
tholomew babies,  lute-strings,  or  hob-nails,  or  two  hundred  pounds 
in  Saint  Thomas  onions,  and  the  rest  in  money  ;  the  onions  they 
could  get  wenches  enough  to  cry  and  sell  them  by  the  rope,  and 
what  remains  should  serve  them  with  mutton.  Upon  this,  their 
tumbler  trots  up  and  down  again,  and  at  last  lighting  on  a  citizen 
that  will  deal,  the  names  are  received,  and  delivered  to  a  scrivener, 
who  enquiring  whether  they  be  good  men  and  true  that  are  to 
pass  upon  the  life  and  death  of  five  hundred  pounds,  finds  that 
four  of  the  five  are  wind-shaken,  and  ready  to  fall  into  the  Lord's 
hands.  Marry  the  fifth  man  is  an  oak  and  there  is  hope  that  he 
cannot  be  hewed  down  in  haste.  Upon  him  therefore  the  citizen 
builds  so  much  as  comes  to  five  hundred  pounds,  yet  takes  in  the 
other  four  to  make  them  serve  as  scaffolding,  till  the  farm  be  fur- 
nished, and  if  then  it  hold,  he  cares  not  greatly  who  takes  them 
down.  In  all  haste  are  the  bonds  sealed,  and  the  commodities 
delivered.  And  then  does  the  tumbler  fetch  his  second  career, 
and  that's  this. 


THE  TUMBLER'S   HUNTING  COUNTER 

The  wares  which  they  fished  for  being  in  the  hand  of  the  five 
sharers,  do  now  more  trouble  their  wits  how  to  turn  those  wares 
into  ready  money,  than  before  they  were  troubled  to  turn  their 
credits  into  wares.  The  tree  being  once  more  to  be  shaken,  they 
know  it  must  lose  fruit,  and  therefore  their  factor  must  barter 
away  their  merchandise,  though  it  be  with  loss  :  abroad  is  into 
the  city  :  he  sails  for  that  purpose,  and  deals  with  him  that  sold, 
to  buy  his  own  commodities  again  for  ready  money.  He  will  not 
do  it  under  ^30  loss  in  the  hundred  :  other  archers"  bows  are 
tried  at  the  same  mark,  but  all  keep  much  about  one  scantling  : 
back  therefore  comes  their  carrier  with  this  news,  that  no  man  will 
disburse  so  much  present  money  upon  any  wares  whatsoever. 
Only  he  met  by  good  fortune  with  one  friend  (and  that  friend  is 
himself)  who  for  ^10  will  procure  them  a  chapman  :  marry,  that 
chapman  will  not  buy  unless  he  may  have  them  at  ^30  loss  in  the 


588  ENGLISH  PROSE 


hundred.  Fuh,  cry  all  the  sharers,  a  plague  on  these  fox-furred 
curmudgeons,  give  that  fellow,  your  friend,  ^lo  for  his  pains,  and 
fetch  the  rest  of  his  money.  Within  an  hour  after,  it  is  brought 
and  poured  down  in  one  heap  upon  a  tavern  table  ;  where  making 
a  goodly  show  as  if  it  could  never  be  spent,  all  of  them  consult 
what  fee  the  tumbler  is  to  have  for  hunting  so  well,  and  conclude 
that  less  than  ^lo  they  cannot  give  him,  which  ^lo  is  the  first 
money  told  out.  Now  let  us  cast  up  :  in  every  hundred  pounds 
is  lost  thirty  which  being  five  times  £2,0  makes  ^^150  :  that  sum 
the  ferret  puts  up  clear  besides  his  over-pricing  the  wares  ;  unto 
which  .;^i  50  lost,  add  £\o  more,  which  the  tumbler  gulls  them  of, 
and  other  _^io  which  he  hath  for  his  voyage,  all  which  makes 
£170  ;  which  deducted  from  ^500  there  remaineth  only  ^330  to 
be  divided  amongst  five,  so  that  every  one  of  the  partners  shall 
have  but  i^66.  Yet  this  they  all  put  up  merrily,  washing  down 
their  losses  with  sack  and  sugar,  whereof  they  drink  that  night 
profoundly. 

(From  Lanthorne  and  Candle  Light }j 


THE  DOVE 

The  dove  was  the  first  bird  that  being  sent  out  of  Noah  his  ark, 
brought  comfort  to  Noah  :  so  prayer  being  sent  out  of  the  ark 
of  our  bodies,  is  the  only  and  first  bringer  of  comfort  to  us  from 
Heaven.  The  dove  went  out  twice  ere  it  could  find  an  olive 
branch  (which  was  the  ensign  of  peace)  :  so  our  prayers  must  fly 
up  again  and  again,  and  never  leave  beating  at  the  doors  of 
Heaven,  till  they  fetch  from  thence  the  olive  branch  of  God's 
mercy,  in  sign  that  we  are  at  peace  with  Him,  and  that  He  hath 
pardoned  our  sins.  The  dove  no  sooner  brought  that  bough  of 
good  tidings  into  the  ark,  but  the  universal  flood  fell,  and  sunk 
into  the  bowels  of  the  deep  :  so  no  sooner  do  our  hearty  prayers 
pierce  the  bosom  of  the  Lord  Almighty,  but  the  waters  of  His 
indignation  shrink  away,  melting  to  nothing  like  hills  of  snow, 
and  the  universal  deluge  of  sin  that  floweth  forty  days  and  nights 
together  (that  is  to  say,  every  hour,  or  all  our  life  time)  to  drown 
both  soul  and  body,  is  driven  back,  and  ebbs  into  the  bottomless 
gulf  of  hell.  The  dove  is  said  to  be  without  gall  :  our  prayers 
must  be  without  bitterness,  and  not  to  the  hurt  of  our  neighbour 
(for  such  prayers  are  curses)  lest  we  pull  down  vengeance  on  our 


THOMAS  DEKKER  589 


heads.      Such  was  the  dove  that   Noah  sent  out  of  the  ark  ;  with 
such  wings  let  our  prayers  carry  up  our  messages  to  Heaven. 

(From  I'oiir  Birds  0/  JVoah^s  Ark.) 


THE  PELICAN 

The  third  bird  that  I  call  out  of  Noah's  ark,  is  the  pehcan.  The 
nature  of  the  pelican  is  to  peck  her  own  bosom^  and  with  the 
drops  of  her  blood  to  feed  her  young  ones  ;  so  in  our  prayers  we 
must  (in  the  love  that  we  bear  to  God)  beat  at  our  breasts  till 
(with  the  bleeding  drops  of  a  contrite  and  repentant  heart)  we 
have  fed  our  souls  with  the  nourishment  of  everlasting  life.  The 
pelican  is  content  to  yield  up  her  own  life  to  save  others  :  so  in 
our  prayers,  we  must  be  willing  to  yield  up  all  the  pleasures  of 
the  world,  and  to  kill  all  the  desires  of  the  body  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  soul.  As  Christ  therefore  suffered  abuses  before  His 
death,  and  agonies  at  the  time  of  His  death  (both  of  them  being 
to  the  number  principally  of  ten)  so  (because  our  pelican  is  a 
figure  of  Him  in  His  passion)  doth  this  third  bird  take  ten  flights  ; 
at  every  flight  her  wings  bearing  up  a  prayer,  to  defend  us  from 
those  sins  for  which  Christ  died.  The  abuses  and  agonies  which 
Christ  put  up  and  suffered  (being  in  number  ten)  are  these  : 
First,  the  betraying  of  Him  by  one  of  His  own  servants  :  Secondly, 
the  bufteting  of  Him,  and  scourging  Him  in  the  open  hall  by  His 
own  nation  :  Thirdly,  His  arraignment  and  condemnation,  when 
nothing  could  be  proved  against  Him  :  Fourthly,  the  compelling 
of  Him  to  carry  His  own  cross,  when  already  He  had  undertaken 
to  carry  on  His  back  all  our  sins  :  Fifthly,  the  nailing  of  Him  to 
the  tree  of  shame  :  Sixthly,  the  crowning  of  Him  in  scorn,  with  a 
crown  of  thorns  :  Seventhly,  the  hanging  of  two  common  thieves 
in  His  company :  Eighthly,  the  giving  of  vinegar  and  gall  to  Him 
when  He  was  thirsty:  Ninthly,  the  sorrows  of  hell,  which  He 
felt  when  in  the  unspeakable  anguish  of  His  soul  He  was  forced 
to  cry,  EH,  Eli,  Lama  Sahacthani.  And  lastly,  the  piercing  of 
His  glorious  side  with  a  spear.  These  are  the  ten  wings  with 
which  Christ  (our  pelican)  flew  to  His  death.  Now  cast  up  your 
eyes  and  behold,  and  listen  with  your  ears  and  hear,  what  ten 
notes  our  pelican  maketh  coming  out  of  Noah's  ark. 

(From  the  Same.) 


590  ENGLISH  PROSE 


THE  PHCENIX 

The  fourth  and  last  bird  which  you  are  to  behold,  flying  out  of 
Noah's  ark,  is  the  Phoenix.  The  phoenix  of  all  other  birds  liveth 
to  the  longest  age  :  so  must  our  prayers  fly  up  in  bright  flames 
all  the  days  of  our  life  :  we  must  be  petitioners  even  to  the  hour 
and  last  minute  of  our  breath.  The  phcenix  hath  the  goodliest 
feathers  in  the  world,  and  prayers  are  the  most  beautiful  wings 
by  which  we  may  mount  into  heaven.  There  is  but  one  phcenix 
upon  earth,  as  there  is  but  one  tune,  in  which  God  delighteth, 
and  that  is  the  prayer  of  a  sinner.  When  the  phoenix  knoweth 
she  must  die,  she  buildeth  a  nest  of  all  the  sweetest  spices  and 
there  looking  stedfastly  on  the  sun,  she  beateth  her  wings  in  his 
hottest  beams,  and  between  them  kindleth  a  fire  among  those 
sweet  spices,  and  so  burneth  herself  to  death.  So  when  we  desire 
to  die  to  the  vanities  of  the  world,  we  must  build  up  a  nest,  and 
fill  it  with  faithful  sighs,  groans,  tears,  fasting  and  prayer,  sack- 
cloth and  ashes  (all  which  in  the  nostrils  of  the  Lord  are  sweet 
spices)  and  then  fixing  our  eyes  upon  the  cross  where  the  glorious 
Son  of  God  paid  the  ransom  of  our  sins,  we  must  not  cease  till 
with  the  wings  of  faith  and  repentance,  we  have  kindled  His 
mercy,  and  in  that  sweet  flame  have  all  our  fleshly  corruptions 
consumed  and  purified.  Out  of  those  dead  ashes  of  the  phoenix 
doth  a  new  phoenix  arise.  And  even  so  out  of  the  ashes  of  that 
one  repentance,  shall  we  be  regenerate  and  born  anew. 

(From  the  Same.) 


WILLIAM   CLOWES 


[William  Clowes  was  born  in  1540,  and  after  apprenticeship  to  George 
Keble,  a  London  surgeon,  became  a  member  of  the  Barber-Surgeons'  Com- 
pany. He  was  surgeon  to  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital  from  1575  to  1585, 
and  afterwards  served  with  the  army  abroad,  and  was  in  the  field  when  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  was  wounded.  Before  settling  in  practice  he  had  been  some 
years  in  the  navy,  and  in  1588  he  again  went  to  sea  in  the  fleet  which  defeated 
the  Armada.  He  became  surgeon  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  after  a  life  of 
constant  activity,  died  at  Plaistow  in  1604.] 

Several  of  the  London  surgeons  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  were 
copious  writers,  and  often  began  their  books  by  an  apology  for 
writing  in  the  vernacular.  Their  style  is  often  pedantic,  and 
their  works  without  literary  merit.  William  Clowes  is  in  every 
way  superior  to  his  surgical  contemporaries.  His  writings  are 
those  of  a  man  without  academic  training,  who  knew  some  Latin, 
a  little  French,  and  no  Greek,  but  who  was  a  master  of  everyday 
English  expression.  He  tells  many  stories,  and  his  works  deserve 
to  be  read  by  historians  for  the  light  which  they  throw  upon 
domestic  life  in  London  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  His  best 
works  are  A  Prooved  Practise  for  all  young  Chirurgians  con- 
cerning Burning  with  Gunpowder  {\t)()i),  and  A  right  frutefull 
and  approved  Treatise  for  the  Artificiall  Cure  of  the  Struma  or 
Evill  (1602).  Clowes  is  sometimes  too  long,  but  is  rarely  ob- 
scure, and  generally  racy.  He  is  as  full  of  proverbs  as  Sancho 
Panza,  and  has  them  for  all  occasions.  He  was  an  accurate 
observer,  and  the  conclusions  drawn  from  his  observations  are 
often  supported  by  well  reasoned  arguments. 

Norman  Moore. 


591 


THE  BOASTING  OF  A  QUACK 

Then  riseth  out  of  his  chair,  fleering  and  jeering,  this  miraculous 
surgeon,  gloriously  glittering  like  the  man  in  the  moon,  with  his 
bracelets  about  his  arms,  therein  many  precious  jewels  and  stones 
of  Saint  Vincent  his  rocks,  his  fingers  full  of  rings,  a  silver  case 
with  instruments  hanging  at  his  girdle,  and  a  gilt  spatula  sticking 
in  his  hat,  with  a  rose  and  a  crown  fixed  on  the  same,  standing 
upon  his  comparisons,  and  said  unto  me  that  he  would  open  the 
wound,  and  if  it  were  before  my  face  :  for  (said  he)  my  business 
lieth  not  in  London,  but  abroad  in  the  country,  and  with  such 
persons  that  I  cannot  nor  will  not  tarry  for  you  nor  for  no  other 
whatsoever.  And  now  here  he  did  begin  to  brag  and  boast  as 
though  all  the  keys  of  knowledge  did  hang  at  his  girdle.  For  he 
said  he  had  attained  unto  the  deep  knowledge  of  the  making  of  a 
certain  quintessence  which  he  learned  beyond  the  seas  of  his 
master  one  Bornelious,  a  great  magician.  This  shameless  beast 
letted  not  to  say  that  if  a  man  did  drink  of  his  quintessence  con- 
tinually every  day  a  certain  quantity,  the  virtue  thereof  was  such 
that  a  man  should  not  die  before  the  day  of  the  great  Judgement, 
and  that  it  would  preserve  in  that  state  he  was  in  at  thirty  years 
of  age,  and  in  the  same  strength  and  force  of  will  although 
a  man  were  a  hundred  or  six  score  years  of  age.  Moreover  his 
plaister  was  answerable  unto  this,  and  forsooth  he  called  it  the 
only  plaister  of  the  world,  and  that  he  attained  unto  it  by  his 
great  travail,  cost,  and  charge,  and  that  it  was  first  sent  from  God 
by  an  angel  unto  a  red  hill  in  Almayne,  where  was  in  times  past 
a  holy  man  which  wrought  great  marvels  only  with  this  plaister, 
and  he  never  used  any  other  medicine  but  only  this.  His 
precious  balm  or  oil  he  said  no  man  had,  but  only  he,  and  that  it 
was  as  rare  a  thing  to  be  had  or  found,  as  to  see  a  black  swan  or 
a  winter  swallow,  and  he  called  it  the  secret  of  the  world,  which 
is  his  common  vaunting  phrase  :  but  God  knows  the  medicines 
592 


WILLIAM  CLOWES  593 


were  no  such  things,  but  only  shadowed  under  the  v.izard  of  deceit, 
and  a  bait  to  steal  fame  and  credit  and  to  catch  or  scrape  up 
money  or  ware,  for  all  is  fish  that  cometh  unto  his  net.  Then 
this  gaudy  fellow  with  his  peerless  speeches  said  that  he  had  done 
more  good  cures  with  his  said  quintessence,  his  only  plaister  and 
his  precious  balm  than  any  one  surgeon  in  England  had  done  or 
could  do  with  all  the  best  medicines  and  remedies  they  have. 
And  moreover  said  that  he  had  spoken  nothing  but  that  which  he 
would  stand  to  and  prove  it.  And  that  he  did  know  that  it  was 
not  necessary  for  us  common  surgeons  (as  it  pleased  the  bragger 
to  call  us)  to  use  such  a  number  of  medicines  as  we  do. 

(From  a  Proovcd  Practise  for  all  young  CMrurgeons.") 


A  BRAGGART'S  FATE 

Notwithstanding,  it  is  a  true  saying :  It  is  an  ill  wind  that 
bloweth  no  man  good  ;  I  mean,  happy  is  he  that  cometh  in 
the  declination  and  ending  of  a  cure  :  and  so  I  let  him  alone 
with  his  humours,  sith  my  reasons  were  not  of  force  to  persuade 
him  :  howbeit,  in  conclusion  he  used  me  very  kindly,  and  willed 
me  to  go  abroad  with  him,  to  see  his  rivers,  wherein  were  many 
goodly  trouts  and  other  fine  fishes,  and  after  shewed  me  his  mighty 
high  woods,  and  a  number  of  heronshew-nests.  But  truly,  I  took  as 
much  pleasure  at  the  sight  thereof,  as  Jack-an-apes  doth  when  he 
hath  a  whip  at  his  tail.  After  all  these  sights,  he  returned  to  his 
house,  and  by  the  way  he  said.  Master  Clowes,  I  will  hold  you 
no  longer  with  me,  but  I  will  send  you  with  my  men  to  London, 
for  I  must  confess  I  have  stayed  you  longer  time  than  I  meant  to 
have  done  :  and  in  conclusion,  he  gave  me  20  pound,  and  pro- 
mised me  to  rest  my  assured  good  friend  during  his  life.  But  to 
conclude,  I  note  his  unfortunate  end,  whereby  it  presaged  he  was 
born  under  some  unlucky  planet  or  Crosse  day.  For  within  few 
years  after,  he  took  occasion  to  ride  abroad,  as  at  many  other 
times  he  used  to  do,  but  in  returning  home  to  his  own  house,  it 
was  said,  he  entering  into  a  lane,  and  attempting  to  open  a  great 
gate,  suddenly  his  horse  started  aside,  and  fied  away,  whereby  the 
gentleman  fell  from  his  horse  unto  the  ground,  and  there  suddenly 
brake  his  own  neck.      So  his  horse  ran  home,  and  he  being  left 

VOL.    I.  2     I 


594  ENGLISH  PROSE 


behind,  the  servants  went  and  sought  for  him,  and  found  him 
stark  dead,  and  his  neck  broke.  Thus  far  of  the  end  of  the 
master,  now  to  the  end  of  his  man,  which  he  appointed  to  be 
Master  Story's  guide,  the  only  phoenix,  whom  he  dearly  loved, 
but  not  for  his  good  conditions.  Within  a  year  after  his  master 
came  to  his  untimely  death,  (whose  end  was  only  to  God  fore- 
known and  prefixed)  this  swaggering  fellow  did  suddenly  grow 
into  great  misery,  and  so  upon  a  time  he  came  to  London,  and 
there  I  saw  him.  Presently  he  crave  of  me  some  relief,  for  he 
said,  for  want  of  service  he  was  brought  into  great  poverty. 
Indeed  I  must  confess  I  had  small  devotion  unto  him,  but  yet  I 
gave  him  somewhat  to  be  rid  of  his  company  :  thus  he  went  his 
ways,  saying  he  did  hope  it  would  be  better  or  worse  with  him 
shortly.  Indeed  it  was  reported  that  not  long  after,  he  did  con- 
sort with  a  crew  of  his  old  companions,  and  they  together  im- 
mediately robbed  certain  clothiers  of  the  west  country,  and  being 
all  taken,  were  at  the  assizes  hanged  on  the  gallows  at  Ailesbury 
or  thereabouts,  for  the  said  fact.  Thus  (friendly  readers)  you 
have  heard  (as  it  were)  the  tragical  history  of  the  foresaid  gentle- 
man and  his  man.  The  cause  which  hath  moved  me  to  publish 
the  same  is,  to  forewarn  all  young  practisers  of  this  faculty  of 
chirurgeiy,  being  indeed  truly  called  filiiis  artis.,  to  beware  and 
take  heed  how  they  go,  and  where  and  with  whom  they  go, 
especially  into  strange  and  unknown  places,  and  unto  men  of 
such  extraordinary  and  strange  qualities,  which  make  but  a  jest 
and  pastime  at  the  abusing  of  any  man,  be  he  of  never  so  much 
worth,  honesty,  skill  in  his  profession. 

(From  A  right  fruitful  and  approved  Treatise.") 


DR  TIMOTHY  BRIGHT 

[Dr.  Timothy  Bright  was  born  in  1551,  and  at  the  age  of  eleven  entered 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  graduated  in  1568.  He  studied  after- 
wards in  Paris,  and  on  St.  Bartholomew's  Day  1572  took  refuge  in  the  house 
of  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  where  he  met  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  He  was  physician 
to  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  llondon,  from  1586  to  1590,  and  lived  in  the 
Hospital.  He  then  took  orders,  and  was  presented  by  (Jueen  Elizabeth  to 
the  rectory  of  Methley  in  1591,  and  afterwards  to  that  of  Berwick  in  Elmet, 
both  in  Yorkshire.      He  died  in  161 5.] 

Dr.  Timothy  Bright  is  most  famous  as  the  inventor  of  modem 
shorthand,  and  described  his  system  in  a  small  book,  Charaderie : 
an  Arte  of  Skorte,  Swift,  and  Secret  Writing  by  Character,  pub- 
lished in  London  in  1588.  The  copy  in  the  Bodleian  Library  is 
the  only  one  which  is  known  to  have  survived  to  our  times.  In 
Latin  he  wrote  (1584)  a  reply  to  Scribonius,  In  Physicam,  which 
is  one  of  the  earliest  productions  of  the  Cambridge  University 
Press;  Animadversio?ies  de  Traduce  (1590);  and  two  medical 
treatises,  //y^zWV/rt  (158 1 )  and  Therapeutica  {i  $?> 2,).  His  Eng- 
lish works  are  an  abridgement  of  Foxe's  Book  of  Martyrs  (i  581), 
and  A  Treatise  of  Melaticholie,  "  containing  the  causes  thereof, 
and  reasons  of  the  strange  effects  it  worketh  in  our  minds  and 
bodies,  with  the  phisicke,  cure,  and  spirituall  consolation  for 
such  as  have  thereto  adjoyned  an  afflicted  conscience"  (1586). 
This  book  is  sometimes  said  to  have  suggested  to  Burton  his 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  but  elaborate  disquisitions  on  melancholy 
are  to  be  found  in  many  earlier  medical  writers,  and  there  is  no 
real  resemblance  between  the  treatises  of  Burton  and  of  Bright 
His  style  is  less  colloquial  than  that  of  the  London  surgeon, 
Clowes,  who  was  his  contemporary  ;  while  he  shows  less  know- 
ledge of  Greek,  and  uses  more  long  words  than  his  Cambridge 
predecessor  as  a  medical  writer  in  English,  Dr.  Christopher 
Langton.  He  is  never  so  pithy  as  More,  is  often  prolix,  and 
sometimes  involved.  Though  he  had  graduated  in  medicine,  he 
was  not  much  more  of  a  physician  than  Sir  Thomas  Elyot,  who 
was  merely  a  reader  of  medical  books. 

Norman  Moorb. 
595 


HOW  THE  SOUL  BY  ONE  SIMPLE  FACULTY  PER- 
FORMETH   SO    MANY  AND   DIVERS  ACTIONS 

Thus  have  you  these  parts,  and  organical  uses  distinct :  and  if  it 
seem  yet  difficult  unto  you,  to  conceive,  how  one  simple  faculty 
can  discharge  such  multiplicity  of  actions,  weigh  with  me  a  little, 
by  a  comparison  of  similitude,  the  truth  of  this  point,  and  accord- 
ingly accept  it.  We  see  it  evident  in  automatical  instruments,  as 
clocks,  watches,  and  larums,  how  one  right  and  straight  motion, 
through  the  aptness  of  the  first  wheel,  not  only  causeth  circular 
motion  in  the  same,  but  in  divers  others  also  :  and  not  only  so, 
but  distinct  in  pace,  and  rhythm  of  motion  :  some  wheels  passing 
swifter  than  other  some,  by  diverse  races  :  now  to  these  devices, 
some  other  instrument  added,  as  hammer  and  bell,  not  only 
another  right  motion  springeth  thereof,  as  the  stroke  of  the 
hammer,  but  sound  oft  repeated,  and  delivered  at  certain  times 
by  equal  pauses,  and  that  either  larum  or  hours,  according  as  the 
parts  of  the  clock  are  framed.  To  these  if  yet  moreover  a 
directory  hand  be  added,  this  first,  and  simple,  and  right  motion, 
by  weight  or  strain,  shall  seem  not  only  to  be  author  of  deliberate 
sound,  and  to  counterfeit  voice,  but  also  to  point  with  the  finger 
as  much  as  it  hath  declared  by  sound.  Besides  these  we  see  yet 
a  third  motion  with  reciprocation  in  the  balance  of  the  clock. 
So  many  actions  diverse  in  kind  rise  from  one  simple  first  motion, 
by  reason  of  variety  of  joints  in  one  engine.  If  to  these  you  add 
what  wit  can  devise,  you  may  find  all  the  motion  of  Heaven  with 
his  planets  counterfeited,  in  a  small  model  with  distinction  of 
time  and  season,  as  in  the  course  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  And 
this  appeareth  in  such  sort  as  carry  their  motion  within  them- 
selves. In  water- works  I  have  seen  a  mill  driven  with  the  wind, 
which  hath  both  served  for  grist,  and  avoiding  of  rivers  of  water 
out  of  drowned  fens  and  marshes,  which  to  an  American,  ignorant 
of  the  device,  would  seem  to  be  wrought  by  a  lively  action  of 
596 


£>K.    TIMOTHY  BRIGHT  59). 

every  part,  and  not  by  such  a  general  mover  as  the  wind  is, 
which  bloweth  direct,  and  foUoweth  not  by  circular  motion  of  the 
mill-sail.  Now  if  this  be  brought  to  pass  in  artificial  practices, 
and  the  variety  of  action  infer  not  so  many  facukics,  but  mere 
dispositions  of  the  instruments  :  let  the  similitude  serve  to  illus- 
trate that  unto  you,  whereto  the  reasons  before  alleged,  may  with 
more  force  of  proof  induce  you.  If  yet  you  be  not  satisfied  (for 
melancholic  persons  are  for  the  most  part  doubtful  and  least  assured) 
and  although  ye  acknowledge  the  truth  hereof  in  organical  actions, 
yet  in  these  as  require  no  instrument,  judge  otherwise,  that  scruple 
also  by  a  similitude  I  will  take  away,  and  make  it  plain  unto 
you,  referring  you  for  strength  of  reason  to  that  which  hath  been 
aforesaid.  Before,  I  shewed  the  vai-iety  of  action  to  spring  of 
diversity  of  instrument :  now,  where  there  is  no  instrument,  what 
diversity  (say  you)  can  there  be  ?  and  yet  to  give  but  one  action 
to  the  soul  were  to  deprive  it  of  many  goodly  exercises,  whereby 
it  apprehendeth  the  Creator,  thankfully  acknowledgeth  His  good- 
ness, and  directeth  itself  to  His  honour,  besides  those  spiritual 
offices,  which  the  souls  departed  out  of  this  life,  in  love  perform 
to  each  other,  with  that  knowledge  of  eternal  things.  If  you 
require  reason  of  proof,  the  simplicity  of  the  soul,  and  the  nature 
of  diverse  things  will  make  answer  :  if  of  illustration  and  com- 
parison of  similitude,  then  consider  how  with  one  view,  a  man 
beholdeth  both  top  and  bottom  of  height  and  both  ends  of  length 
at  once,  the  situation  of  the  thing  being  convenient  thereunto  : 
yet  are  there  neither  diverse  faculties,  nor  diverse  instruments  : 
the  sun  both  ripencth  and  withereth,  and  with  an  influence  it 
bringeth  forth  metals,  trees,  herbs,  and  whatsoever  springeth 
from  the  earth ;  sometimes  it  softeneth,  and  other  some  it  hardeneth ; 
other  some  it  maketh  sweet,  and  other  some  bitter :  an  hammer 
driveth  in,  and  driveth  out,  it  looseneth  and  fasteneth,  it  maketh  and 
marreth,  not  with  diversity  of  faculty,  keeping  the  same  weight, 
ternper,  and  fashion  it  had  before,  but  only  diversely  applied,  and 
used  upon  diverse  matters  :  so  many  uses  arise  of  one  instrument. 
Moreover,  if  a  man  were  double  fronted  (as  the  poets  have  feigned 
Janus)  and  the  instruments  disposed  thereafter,  the  same  faculty 
of  sight  would  address  itself  to  see  both  before  and  behind  at  one 
instant,  which  now  it  doth  by  turning.  As  these  actions  of  so 
sundry  sorts  require  no  diverse  faculty,  but  change  of  subject,  and 
altered  application  :  so  the  mind,  in  action  wonderful,  and  next 
unto  the   Supreme   Majesty  of  God,  and  by  a   peculiar  manner 


598  ENGLISH  PROSE 


proceeding  from  Himself,  as  the  things  are  subject  unto  the  ap- 
prehension and  action  thereof:  so  the  same  faculty  varieth  not 
by  nature,  but  by  use  only,  or  diversity  of  those  thin;^s  whereto 
it  applieth  itself;  as  the  same  faculty  applied  to  differing  things, 
discerneth,  to  things  past,  remembereth :  to  things  future,  for- 
seeth  :  of  present  things  determineth  :  and  that  which  the  eye 
doth  by  turning  of  the  head,  beholding  before,  behind,  and  on 
each  side,  that  doth  the  mind  freely  at  once  (not  being  hindered, 
nor  restrained  by  corporal  instrument)  in  judging,  remembering, 
foreseeing,  according  as  the  things  present  themselves  unto  the 
consideration  thereof  For  place  more  than  one,  and  where  will 
you  stay,  and  how  will  you  number  them  ?  and  why  are  there  not 
as  well  threescore,  as  three  ?  If  you  measure  them  by  kinds  of 
actions,  they  are  indefinite,  and  almost  infinite,  and  cannot  bear 
any  certain  rate  in  our  natures  :  seeing  such  as  are  voluntary, 
rise  upon  occasions  and  necessity  uncertain ;  and  natural  are 
diverse  in  every  several  part,  and  so  according  to  their  number 
are  multiplied,  and  of  them  sundry  actions  being  performed,  as 
to  attract,  to  concoct,  to  retain,  to  expel,  as  assimilate,  agglutinate, 
etc.  :  not  generally,  but  the  peculiar  and  proper  nourishment,  the 
number  would  fill  up  Erastosthenes'  sieve  to  count  them  all. 
Wherefore  to  conclude  this  argQment,  and  to  leave  you  resolved 
in  this  point,  let  the  faculty  be  one,  and  plurality  in  application, 
use,  and  diversity  of  those  things,  where  about  it  was  conversant : 
otherwise  the  mind  shall  be  distracted  into  parts,  which  is  whole 
in  every  part :  and  admit  mixture,  which  is  most  simple  :  and 
become  subject  to  diverse  qualities,  which  are  distinct  in  nature, 
and  communicated  by  mixture  of  substances  whereto  they  belong, 
and  not  confused  together  in  one  against  nature.  Thus  you 
have  mine  opinion  touching  these  three  parts,  of  soul,  of  spirit, 
and  body,  with  their  peculiar  actions,  and  how  every  one  is 
severally  brought  to  pass :  which  I  thought  necessary  first  to 
make  plain,  before  I  entered  into  particular  answer  to  the  former 
objections,  as  the  ground  of  the  solution,  and  rule,  whereto  the 
particular  answers  are  to  be  squared.  So  then  I  take  generally 
the  soul  to  be  affected  of  the  body  and  spirit,  as  the  instrument 
hindereth  the  work  of  the  artificer,  which  is  not  by  altering  his 
skill,  or  diminishing  his  cunning,  but  by  depraving  the  action 
through  untowardness  of  tool  and  fault  of  instrument.  This  in 
the  chapter  following,  I  will  particularly  apply  to  the  former 
objection. 

(From  A  Treatise  of  Melancholic.') 


NOTES 


22.  The  Isle  of  Lango.      The  island 

of  Cos,  one  of  the  Sporades 
group,  opposite  Halicarnassus 

23.  kindly  shape  =  heT  natural  shape 
good  kepe  =  great  care 

24.  Ermonye  =  Armenia 
Layays  =  Lagazzo 

o  lime  =  one  time 

wake  that  sparrotuhawt:.  Wake 
is  here  used  in  its  proper  sense. 
It  is  now  restricted  to  the 
funeral  sense  of  watch  by 

£■^£1'^=  prosper 

30.  ^r^j'«/  =  hard  pressed,  sinking 
jK^(/=  followed 

sadne'is  of  ^f//>/'=  seriousness  of 
belief 

31.  what  hight  Tobies'  hound.  \Miat 

was  the  name  of  the  dog  casu- 
ally nentioned  as  going  with 
Tobias  in  the  Book  of  Tobit  ; 
to  typify  inquiry  into  trifling 
and  insignificant  matters 

medeful  ivorks  =  \soxV%  of  merit 

chevely  =  chiefly 
.$2.   ought  tlie  lord  — ov;ed  the  lord 

allgates=hy  all  means 

33.  y(?//««j  =  wickedness,  cruelty 

axeth  =  asketh 
meddleth  =  mixeth 

34.  glaver=  talk 

35.  holes  =  husks 
kooris  =  harlots 

37.  religious  =  priests  of  the  various 

orders 

38.  potestate  =  magistrate 
«a;«e/)' =  especially 

599 


PAGE 

45.  engine  =  talent  (ingenium) 
essoin  =  absolution 

mede  =  pa.ymcnt  or  recompense 

46.  or  /  go  =  before  I  go 
delices  =  delights  (deliciie) 

48.   ivaymenting—laxnentaUon 

54.  skile  —  reason 
so  do  —  so  to  do 

law  of  kind  —  naXVLTzX    law  [jus 

gentium) 
doom    of    reason  =  judgment    of 

reason 

55.  entermete  =  interfere 
entermeene  =  intervene 

57.  bear  thee    an    ^(7«(/=  ascribe    to 

thee,  or  accuse  thee  of 
'  xiioned  —  wswal,  customary 
skile.      See  note  to  page  54 

58.  -worthe  =  heeox\\e  [ivcrdeti] 

this  thirty  four'h  winter.  Dat- 
ing from  the  siege  of  Harfieur 
in  1415.  The  RepressourwAS 
written  in  1449 

waged  =  taken  for  wages 

so  much  sin,  hoav  tnuch  sin  is  now 
rehearsed.  This  seems  to  be 
equivalent  to  "so  much  sin  as 
is  now  rehearsed  " 

it  is  wellnigh.  An  adverbial 
phrase  rz  almost 

59.  first  manner  .    .    .    second  man- 

ner. The  first  manner  is 
when  sin  comes  from  an  insti- 
tution as  a  cause :  the  second 
manner  when  it  comes  from  it 
only  as  an  occasion 
64.   worship —  hoviOMi 


6oo 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


PAGE 

65.  or  it  be  loftg=heiore  it  be  long 
aventred  their  spears  =  laid  their 

spears  in  rest.  It  is  by  some 
held  to  be  for  "adventured" 
their  spears  =  thrust  them  for- 
ward. But  it  is  always  used 
of  an  action  taken  before  the 
charge  was  made  ;  and  it 
seems  more  natural  to  coiinect 
the  word  with  tcfitre,  as  signi- 
fying that  the  spear  was 
pressed  close  to  the  body  in 
the  act  of  bringing  it  from  the 
upward  position  to  the  charge 

66.  or  «(9W  =  before  now 
69.   affiance  =  trust 

71.  /oifiing'=  piercing  or  lunging 

on  /ive  — alive 

72.  i^//r=the  iron  ring  on  the  handle 

of  the  spear 

73.  /  saw    nothing   but    the    waters 

wap  and  the  waves  wan.  To 
wap  is  to  beat  or  dash  ;  wan 
seems  to  describe  the  slow 
motion  of  a  ripple  pale  and 
shado\\-T  in  the  moonlight. 
Tennyson  renders  it : 

"  I  heard  the  water  lapping  on  the  crag. 
And  the  long  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds. 

74.  /io/A /20(z/-=  aged  woods 

81.  ta  illes  =  taxes 

uneath  =  hardly  or  scarcely 
scute  =  a  crown,  whence  scutage 
(zr/^(/=  compelled  (Lat.  artare) 

82.  the  kind  of  them,  i.e.  the  race  of 

them 

83.  but  ?_/"=  unless 
a3/i?;«e«/j  =  habiliments 

84.  confedre  =  confederate 
quinsimes  =  fifteenths 
dessimes  =  tenths 

86.  Saint  Thomas.      Thomas  Aqui- 

nas, one  of  whose  works  is 
named  as  in  the  text 

87.  arted.      See  note  on  page  81 

88.  precepto  uno  contrariorum  eorum 

alter um  prohiberi  necesse  est  = 
one  of  two  contraries  being 
enjoined,  the  other  of  them 
must  necessarily  be  forbidden 


91.  cote.       From     quotus,    hke    our 

quotient 
ars  met  rick  (ars  metrica )  =  method 

of  calculation 
ternaries  =  \.x\p\e  resolutions 
/^marzVj  =  double  resolutions 

92.  /o/M/ato  =  magistrates 

The  Roman  law  luas,  "  To  spare 
them  that  asked  grace,  and 
to  smite  do7im  the  proud." 
Quoted,  of  course,  from  Virgil 

Parcere  subjectis,  et  debellare  superbos. 

complexion  =  constitution 

93.  by  choice,  his  son,  i.e.  his  son  by 

adoption 

sibyl  Tiburtine.  Capgrave  has 
just  before  explained  that  there 
were  ten  sibj'ls,  of  whom  the 
' '  most  famous  was  at  Rome, 
called  Tiburtina,  for  she  pro- 
phesied much  of  Christ " 

avisement  —  deliberation 

Freres  Menouris  =  the  Fratres 
Minores,  or  Minorites,  founded 
by  .St.  Francis  of  Assisi 

metiy  =  retinue 

94.  his    reign,    i.e.     the     reign     of 

Henry  III. 
cubiculers  =  chamberlains 

98.  rfc««7=  collection 

ought  to  put  myself  tinto  virtuous 
occupation.  Himself  ■wonid  be 
more  logical  ;  but  Caxton 
anticipates  the  application  of 
the  maxim  to  himself  (in  the 
next  sentence) 

99.  blind   Bayard.      Bayard  is   pro- 

perly ' '  a  bay  horse  "  ;   and  a 
blind    Bayard  was  used  as  a 
proverbial   expression   for  the 
recklessness  that  leaps  before 
it  looks 
Z,(7/rc/t  =  Lorraine  or  Lothringen 
take  in  gree=-\.\\e  French  prendre 
en  gri,  or  agrder 
100.    ar(?i'/if  =  set  it  down  to.      Perhaps 
from   French    arreter,    in   the 
sense  of  fixing 
siege    apostolic.       The    apostolic 
chair  or  seat 


NOTES 


6oi 


PAGE 
lOO. 


103. 


104. 


105. 
106. 


107. 


"3- 


114. 


IIS- 


116. 


apaire  (Lat.  appararc)  =  \.o  pre- 
pare (for  the  press) 

en  levcn  =  eleven  ;  en  =  one ,  and 
leaf  an  =  ten 

his  terment=.\\\%  burial.  From 
the  French  terre,  as  in  the 
later  interment 

hayned.      The  French  bait^ncr 

dispcnces  =  grants  to  maintain 
their  estate 

engine  — i^Xent  [ingenium) 

affyeth  =  confides 

^ra^wa/?j=nrahr!iins.  To  de- 
note India  generally 

Capayre.      Probably  Capri 

meddled  =  mixed,  joined 

Buneventayns  =  Benevento 

Aast  —  Aosta 

Phisias=V\mAv3.% 

trouth  =  trustworthiness 

debonnair.  Not  so  much  in  its 
later  sense  of  joyous  and 
graceful,  but  rather  inspired 
by  gentleness  and  kindliness 

scarcity  —  parsimony 

taillage  =  \evy'\ng  of  tribute 

dispences  =  grsLXils  and  favours 

pyg/tt  =  fixed  :  used  of  planting  a 
tent  on  p.  119 

turnovs  or  tournois,  the  measure 
of  Tours 

Aguysgrany  =  A\x.  Aqncr  Grati- 
ancB  was  the  Roman  name 

laten  =  brass 

vices  =  dG\\cQS  or  contrivances 

Constantine  the  Noble.  Fabyan's 
lack  of  Greek  has  led  him  into 
a  strange  manner  of  repre- 
senting Constantinople 

pilled  =  roh\ieA.  Used  also  in 
the  extract  from  Malory  on  p. 
72 

collatio7is  =  conferences 

antetkeme  =  the  text  which  in- 
troduced his  theme  or  sermon 

holeful=  wholesome 

crfra(/  =  afraid 

«//)/  =  the  body  of  adherents 

disclander  =  slander.  The  prefix 
has  an  intensifying  force. 
The  word  is  found  in  Chaucer 


PACE 

117. 


118. 
119. 


126. 


127. 


132. 
133- 


137- 


139- 


140. 
143- 


144. 


149. 

162. 

167. 
168. 


yode  =  went.        Found     also     in 

Spenser 
questmoiigers  =  informers 
hurling  time=i\vne  of  confusion 
pyght  =  ^y£.A.        See    also    note 

on  p.  112 
mvche,  ouche,  or  nouche,  is  the 

setting  or  frame  of  a  necklace 

or  bracelet 
balessys.      The    balas   or   balass 

( French,  balais)  is  a  variety  of 

ruby 
ensigne  =  (enseigner)  teach 
kistographier.     A  mistaken  form 

for  historiographer 
gests  =  th\ngs  done  (gesta) 
irketh.     Apparently  "  is  wearied 

by."      The  verb  is  now  used 

only  impersonally 
poistereth  =  weighs    down,    from 

the  French  poids 
volved.        Used    like    the    Latin 

volvo,     although    later    usage 

confines  us  to  the  compound 

revolve 
in  gre.      See  note  on  p.  99 
sowned=  sounded 
zfry^(i=  turned.    The  verb  occurs 

in      Shakespeare,      and      the 

adjectives  ivry  and  awty  still 

represent  it 
harrow.      Used  as  an  exclama- 
tion    of     distress  ;     also     in 

Spenser 
Aste='Dii\.       It    was    formerly 

called  Civitas  Aquensium,  or 

./Eqs. 
marchesse  =  ma.xches  or  territory 
•woode  —  mad 
truckle  =  brittle 

all    to    rent.        The    same    ex- 
pression   is    used    in     Judges 

ix.     53,     "All    to    brake     his 

skull" 
out   of  kind  =  away    from    their 

stock  and  kinship 
7ioying=  injuring 
coi'eyne  =  co\h.\s\ve  agreement 
z'//rt';7/<^  =  animals  used  for  food 
froting=^  chafing 
■werish  =  deformed 


6o2 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


PAGE 
169. 
170. 
171. 
XT2. 

173- 
175- 
176. 

178. 
179. 

186. 


187. 


194. 
195- 


227. 

228. 
233- 


234- 


237- 


238. 


raced  =  tore,  gashed 

enemious  =  shown  by  the  enemy 

eaiA  =  easy 

almoise  (alms)  ==  relief 
frote.      See  note  on  p.   168 

gaggling=  cackling 

«(?«i/(?rf=  nursed 

wrungen  —  compressed  by  twist- 
ing 

giglot  =  wanton 

flockmeal  =  vi\  flocks  or  troops 

steadeth  —  stands  in  good  stead 

in  a  niemory.  The  Latin 
memoria  was  used  by  the 
Fathers  for  a  shrine  or  chapel 

St.  Agatha  s  letter.  When  the 
Emperor  Frederick  II.  was 
reducing  Catana,  St.  Agatha's 
native  place,  he  saw  a  warn- 
ing against  doing  so,  in  golden 
letters  before  his  eye.  Hence 
St.  Agatha's  letter  was  a  charm 
against  the  burning  of  houses 

limiter=a.  friar  licensed  to 
preach  within  certain  limits 

uneath  =  hardly,  scarcely 

Copte  (copia)  =  abundance  : 
brought  about  by  the  com- 
mittal of  one  original  to 
memory  or  writing  (hence  the 
ordinary  use  of  copy) 

Blackheath  field.  Where  the 
rebels  were  defeated  in  1497 

hand-makers  =  pilferers 

augmentationers.  Officers  of  the 
Augmentation  Court,  esta- 
blished for  settling  disputes 
about  the  Abbey  lands 

wesant  —  windpipe 

cough  the  king~Y)roc\iTe  for  the 
king.  Like  the  Scotch  coff 
connected  with  the  German 
kaiifen 

Carolus  Magnus.  See  the  de- 
scription of  these  tables  in 
the   extract   from    Fabyan  on 

P-  113 
FccA^,  the  Isle  of  Wight.     Mona, 
Anglesea.         Aletiavia      (also 
wrongly  spent  A/evania),  the 
Isle  of  Man 


241.  gart=  forced 

sopit  =  ma.(ie  heavy  or  dull  {iop- 

itum) 
works  =  torments 
rammel  —hr3.x\Q\\vcig 
but  sleep  =  without  sleep 

242.  OT'«a«(/=  examining 
ramage  =  warbhng 
te>=  noise 

hotv  =  hollow 

247.    visnomy  =  physiognomy 

252.    A(7«//  =  high 

261.   backs  =  h2A.% 

270.  plain  -  song  =  chanting,  prick- 
song,  music  with  the  notation 
marked 
Sophocles.  The  passage  referred 
to  seems  to  be  that  at  v.  964 
of  the  Ajax.  But  it  is  Tec- 
messa,  and  not  Teucer,  who 
utters  the  words — 

oi  yap  KCKOi  yvutnaiiri  rayaSbi'  xepoii' 
e;(Oi'Tes  oiiK  iVacri,  TrpiV  tis  e(c^aA>) 

272.  S7tiap  =  snatch.      Connected  with 

s-ufoop 

273.  many    a    year   or   they    begin  = 

many  a  year  before  they  begin 

274.  7>;r/(7/-=Ravisius      Textor,      or 

Tixier  (1480- 1524),  who  wrote 
a  book  called  Officina,  vel 
potius  Natura  Historia 

275.  atonement.      In  its  literal  mean- 

ing of  union,  or  being  at  one 

Johannes  Major,  or  John  Mair 
(1469 -1550),  the  tutor  of 
Buchanan,  who  wrote  a  his- 
tory of  Scotland  in  1521 

freers  =  friars 
281.  fair  with  hand.     Caligraphy  was 
an   art    much    practised,    and 
Ascham  himself  excelled  in  it 

this  most  excellent  prince.  Ob- 
serve that  prince  is  used  in 
the  feminine  as  well  as  the 
masculine 

Birching  Lane,  leading  from 
Cornhill,  a  place  noted  for 
drapers'  shops,  and  for  the 
sale  of  ready-made  clothes 
292.  Rhitorike  and  I^gike.  These 
words   are   of  four  and  three 


NOTES 


603 


307- 
314- 

315- 
320. 


321. 
325- 

341- 
346- 


354- 
359- 

360. 
361. 
363- 
364- 


380. 
387- 


388, 


syllables  respectively,  to  re- 
present the  Greek  {rexi'v) PV'O' 
piK-fj  and  \oyi.K-q 

youth-heid.  Heid  means  estate, 
quality,  or  class 

^I'zV// =  avoided  [evitare] 

enpyne  =  talent  ( ingenium ) 

«*^r«z«^  =  express  {exprimo) 

deprav(ii=depra.ved(de/>ravaius) 
fenzeitlie  =  feignedly 

les-age  =  minority 

pertainers  —  adherents 

^neas  Sylvius.  Pius  II.  (Pic- 
colomini)  1405-1464.  Holin- 
shed  has  quoted  his  last  verse 
in  a  shape  which  will  not  scan 

laund^a.  moor  or  heath  (French 
lande) 

hewed  of  his  enemies'  hands  = 
hewed  hv  his  enemies'  hands 

geere  =  a.  circle  or  turn  {gyrus) 

yarage  =  power  of  moving  and 
turning  (of  a  ship).  Vare 
was  the  shout  of  haste  used  by 
sailors 

emparle  =  parly  or  conference 

biirgen  =  sprout 

/i?i?'«^=:  making  less 

kidgel=  cVidge^ 

seely  =  feeble 

Tfiyle  or  Thule=  Iceland 

wavters.  Those  who  travelled 
with  him.  Clientes  is  the 
word  in  Tacitus  translated  by 
"  wayters  and  followers  " 
Jight  out  (7/^=  fight  in  front  of. 
The  whole  sentence,  in  Taci- 
tus, is  "  Honestior  auriga  : 
clientes  propugnant."  The 
translator  turns  the  four  words 
into  fifteen,  but  he  brings  out 
the  meaning  clearly 

mam7nering=\ics\\.aX\on,  doubt 

Arist.  lib.  de  mirabilibus.  The 
treatise  of  Aristotle,  De  mira- 
bilibus auscultationibus  or  ■jrepi 
Oavfj.affldn'  aKOUfffidriov,  con- 
sisting of  short  notices  of  na- 
tural phenomena.  Cited  by 
Hakluyt  on  p.  519 

lamblicus   de  tnyst.      Jamblicus 


393- 
394- 


395- 


397- 


398. 
411. 

427. 
429. 


430. 
443 


was  a  Neoplatonist,  of  the 
time  of  Constantine,  who  held 
that  a  knowledge  of  the  Deity 
was  to  be  obtained  by  mys- 
terious rites  (mysteria) 

;«aw/^/-i>j  =  accomplishments 

bolles  =  how\s  (for  playing) 
foote  saunt.      A  game  of  chance. 
Saunt  is  probably  a  variation 
of  cent 

queatche  =  s\.\r  or  move 

a  man  of  Mcegaraes'  ram.  "The 
ram  of  the  man  of  Megara," 
whose  story  must  have  been 
in  Gosson's  mind 

is  there  no  hoe.  Hoe,  or  ho,  is 
the  same  as  wo  I  and  was 
also  used  in  Elizabethan  Eng- 
lish for  "hindrance  or  stop." 
The  word  is  introduced,  of 
course,  to  pun  with  hue  in  the 
previous  clause  :  and  the  mean- 
ing is,  "  Is  there  nothing  to 
stop  you  from  shining?" 

cullises  =  a.  strong  soup  or  broth 

bugs  =  bugbears 

the  matachin  dance.  A  dance 
with  swords,  the  Spanish 
dansa  de  matachenos 

selfnesse.  This  Greville  usually 
writes  for  "selfishness" 

her  long  custom,  i.e.  Elizabeth's. 
This  passage  occurs  towards 
the  close  of  a  very  long  and 
very  involved  account  of  a 
supposed  survey  on  Sidney's 
part  of  the  possible  ways  of 
attacking  Spain,  which  led 
him,  we  are  told,  to  the  con- 
clusion that  America  was  the 
vulnerable  point 

Roan  =  Rouen 

cutter  of  cumine  seeds  =  kvhivo- 
irpiffTrji.  But  Brooke  seems 
to  have  mixed  up  this  word, 
which  means  a  skinflint,  with 
the  Biblical  "  tithingcummin," 
which  is  different 

e/ne  ■=■  ell 

rt7/>/V  =  abundance  (copia) 
en  ten  ded  —  endeavoured 


<?lH 


ENGLISH  PROSE 


449. 
452- 
464. 


503- 
509- 
Sro. 


519- 

526. 
543- 


545- 
555- 


556. 


557- 


558. 
5S9. 


yirke^h^  irksome  to 

/6'«^  =  injure 

ct';-o«<?/=  colonel.  We  have  pre- 
served the  pronunciation,  al- 
though not  the  spelling 

refell=sQ\.  aside  [i-efallcrc) 

bekkit=\>o\\&di 

kythe  =  show 

trunshman  =  interpreter 

/'/-rf//ir7//t'i/  =  tired 

^t'7£'_oar(/=  compliment 

riis  =  praise 

valing,  or  vailing,  =  retiring 

Aristotle  lib.  de  ad?nirabil.  aus- 
cult.      See  note  on  p.  387 

load s-nian  ^^sXssxex  {irom  lead) 

conceited =conc&\ve.d  of  or  ima- 
gined 

wcrt/w  =  escapades  or  freaks 

frumps  =  gibes  or  flouts 

tiussell,  or  nousle,  =  nurse 

tifhartest—  thwartest 

fangle  =  trifling  ornament 

ouch.      See  note  on  p.   119 

of  the  Spanish  cut.  A  full  over- 
coat 

side-slop  =  breeches 

bombast  =  stuffed 

stale  — decoy 

reclaim  =  ta.me.    A  hawking  term 

sease  =  a.\\ght.  or  settle 

The  Cupbearer  s  Dilem7na.  Pan- 
dosto,  king  of  Bohemia,  hus- 
band to  Bellaria,  is  jealous  of 
Egistus,  king  of  Sicily,  and 
endeavours  to  make  Jiis  cup- 
bearer, Franion,  poison  him. 
The  extract  is  Franion's  soli- 
loquy 

Bellaria  s  babe.  Bellaria,  im- 
prisoned by  her  husband,  gives 
birth  in  prison  to  a  child,  and 
Pandosto,  in  spite  of  his 
nobles'  entreaties,  condemns 
both  to  death 

gastful=  frightful 

jo//if(/=  besotted  {sopitus) 

cor  rival  =r\\3.\ 

fruinp=^g\he.  See  also  p.  543 
and  p.  561 


PAGE 

559- 
560. 

561. 


569- 


570- 


571- 


572- 
573- 


574- 
576. 

581. 


587- 

592. 
593- 


598. 


impreso = motto 

quatted.  Has  a  double  meaning: 
"  satiated  "  and  "  crushed  ' 

iny  supposition  would  be  simple. 
Probably  "  my  humble,  or  in- 
ferior, position  would  be 
simple  " 

daraine^'axxz.y  (connected  with 
arranger) 

bid  base  =  defy 

butte.      Probably,  the  halibut 

cannazado.  Possibly  a  mal- 
formed word  from  the  Spanish 
cafiaso,  a  hostile  blow,  or 
rudeness.  Or  perhaps  from 
the  Italian  cannicciato,  a  pali- 
sade of  reeds  to  stop  fish 

Alfonsus,  Alphonso  the  Wise, 
of  Castile.  Poggius,  Poggio 
Bracciolini,  the  noted  scholar, 
repeatedly  cited  by  Nash 

garboils=^d\soxders.  Ital.  gar- 
buglio 

brabbler  =  wrangler 

niggardise  =  niggardliness 

botcher  =  tailor 

lists  =  odd  strips  of  cloth 

twitted  =  stuffed 

dunstically  =  duncically 

dehortment  —  dissuasion  {dehort- 
or) 

Ubi  nunc  est  respublica,  etc. 
' '  Where  the  republic  now  is, 
there  let  us  be,  rather  than  be 
in  no  republic  at  all,  through 
holding  to  that  which  is  anti- 
quated " 

BartholoJiiezu  babies.  Dolls  from 
Bartholomew  Fair 

spatula.      A  surgeon's  knife 

heronshcti),  orheronshaw,  alonger 
form  of  the  heron's  name. 
Shaw  (sue,  sequor)  denotes  its 
fishing  instinct 

Eratosthenes'  sieve.  The  Cribrum 
arithmetictan,  or  method  of 
detecting  prime  numbers,  as- 
cribed to  Eratosthenes  of 
Cyrene  (276-196  B.C.) 


WORKS  BEAMING  ON  THE  PERIOD 

OK 

ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

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